Storyteller
by Jalen Strix
Summary: Based strongly around the 2003 film version, this story centers on a particular storyteller and one of her more provocative creations, the former Captain Hook. Revised version now complete.
1. Prologue: The Captain

Prologue: The Captain

You know of me, I'm sure. But you'll indulge me, anyway. It would be quite poor form otherwise - and we can't have that, now can we?

But I digress. I wish to talk of myself here. Oh, come come - I know you've heard of me. The tales do propagate so well. I was he - the creature diabolic, manipulative, viperous. He of the hook and the impeccable manners. I know you remember.

It's better than being unnamed, certainly, though the envy fair Wendy gave me of her Peter Pan was a very easy emotion to play. He was the center of that dreamscape world, the spirit about which everything turned. And I? I was there merely as his foil - the force of shadowed evil to balance his sun-bright boyhood. The frustration with which she imbued her vile captain wasn't all that difficult to work with either, I assure you. Of the two of us, I was the one who must ignore all the glorious vibrancy which surrounded us, the pulsing thrust of such rich magic. I was the one who must lust for the kill with the single-mindedness of a banker clerk out for his paycheck.

Such is the lot of the villain.

And of course, I was quite obviously and repeatedly surrounded by imbeciles. Such is also the lot of the villain in a hero's tale - scintillating conversation is not a boon granted lightly. The underlings of the villain shall be incompetent oafs. Thus it is spoken; thus shall it be.

At least it's frightfully easy to dispose of such creatures without incurring the wrath of anyone of importance. I admit it was something of a panacea to the state of grievous agitation I so often found myself in. And let's not forget the comic relief value.

Not that I'm chagrined in the slightest. Of course not. Never.

But it was the villain's role I was cast in, and whatever else it might be, it is a name: Villain. Better always to be named, to be gathered and given purpose, whatever it might be. Better to have no hand than no form at all. Better a loathsome caricature with a purpose than shapeless and without will, drifting, sucking at the dregs of weak human fancy and half-hearted belief. Always better. Always.

Besides, even in my villain persona, I was allowed to reveal a glimmer of something not quite so base and repugnant. Refined sensibilities garner a certain amount of respect, and loneliness is a sure inducer of sympathy. Sympathy for a villain? Yes, perhaps I was given some complexity after all. Not enough, of course - but a fragment of humanity all my own.

How generous of dear Wendy. So very generous.

It was still not enough to prevent the easy endings, of course. But I did try, as much as I was allowed. You must credit me with that much.

Though to be truthful, this is only the easy ending of one tale. I have been banished from the imposing form of Hook, but it remains that Wendy's longing for something darker in her fantasy world has not been quenched. Parts of her call out to me, giving me some limited form still. Her will is strong, her imagination an untamed thing.

I am not, as yet, named. But she is reaching an age where the dread pirate captain is not the darkness she seeks. Far too simple, that one-dimensional villain. Her desires, unconscious or otherwise, will take other forms.

Even in this tale, you might recall that I was quite a dashing fiend. Entrancing, even, with those piercing forget-me-not blue eyes. She has such an eye for details, dear Wendy does.

There are dreams to be woven, stories to ripen in the sleeping mind that sees so very much and wants what it knows it shouldn't.

All I need do is wait.

And that, my dears, I am very, very good at.


	2. One: The Storyteller

Chapter One: The Storyteller

Wendy jumped onto the nearest bed, causing a delighted gasp from her audience. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she lunged sharply to the left and aimed a deft kick at her invisible opponent. "Aha! Take that, you nasty, rude little man!"

"Oh, honestly - did the princess _really_ say that?" interrupted Rachel, quite skeptical. "As if she's ever even been in a fight before!"

"Of course she did," said Wendy, with perfect dignity, as she disarmed her phantom attacker with a sharp kick to a rather sensitive region. "And then she sashayed smugly past him as he lay collapsed in a heap." Giggles crept in from the corners of the room as the girls pictured this. "But then," said Wendy, whirling suddenly on Rachel with a mock-serious air, "if you don't care for my stories, perhaps you'd do better finishing this one yourself."

Squeals of indignation arose from the girls, and several pillows were thrown at Rachel. Rachel made a wry face at Wendy, and raised her hands in the air in defeat. "My apologies, Madame Storyteller," she said, grinning, "please continue."

"Oh, but I would hate to stretch your belief so, my dears," replied Wendy, looking mournful. "Perhaps we should be more practical with our tales."

A wailing chorus of "No!" and "Never!" answered her.

Wendy widened her eyes, and shook her head sadly, her hands spread wide in front of her to indicate how powerless she was in the face of practicality.

Lexie giggled. "Oh, do stop teasing, Wendy! Tell us what happens to the princess next?"

Wendy lowered her head, blinking demurely through her eyelashes. "Do you _really _want to know?"

Little Amy had crawled close enough to tug on Wendy's skirt. "Please, Miss Wendy," she said in her soft baby voice, "what happens next?"

Wendy's expression softened as she smiled gently at the bright eyes turned up to her. "So then," she said, turning to look up at the rest of the girls, "perhaps you would like to hear more about the young thief the princess met?"

"Oooh, yes!" said Sarah, quite taken with the roguish descriptions of the aforementioned thief. "Does she try to find him again? Do they have an adventure together?"

"Does she stay with him and become a rogue thief, too?" asked Lexie.

"I hope so," said Rachel. "That would certainly more fun than learning to be a proper princess back at the palace!"

Beth snorted. "And even _that's_ more fun than learning to be a proper modern lady here."

Wendy smiled ruefully. "Too true, Bethie, too true." It really _was_ something of a shame that learning to be "proper" was such an onerous task at the Julia Reddon School for Proper Young Ladies. _Of course,_ conceded Wendy, _learning to be proper anywhere probably isn't all that splendid. But honestly, why must proper always mean dull for grownups? Why must grownups want everything to be predictable and ordinary?_

She sighed a little at the silliness of grownups. Of course, that was one of the main reasons for stories. One couldn't let one's imagination go to ruin simple because some dowdily-dressed duenna thought such pursuits "unbecoming in a lady of seventeen"

Beth grinned cheekily at Wendy, as if reading her thoughts. "But at least you can sneak in stories to keep our spirits up when Reddon and old Pintzer aren't looking."

Wendy grinned. "That I certainly can." She leapt to the nearest chair - a rather rickety affair, in truth - and, though wobbling a bit, stood magnificently poised with a pretend monkey chattering on her shoulder. "Now, about the young thief the princess met-"

The wooden steps creaked sharply. The girls froze, wary.

"Speak of the devil," whispered Beth ominously, "and she shall prowl outside our very room. Quickly, girls!"

Within moments, all the girls had hastily arranged themselves at their respective writing desks and commenced with activities far more proper than listening to stories.

Wendy herself sat with pen poised above a colorful set of stationery, a picture of elegance, grace, and good manners. The effect of propriety was sadly marred by an impish smile that insisted upon showing itself as she examined the stationery page, which itself featured a small lagoon with a mermaid diving merrily - and about half a seashell away from indecently - into the cool waters.

Wendy sensed the disapproving presence of Pintzer perched over her half a moment before the woman spoke. "And what are you writing that's so terribly amusing, Wendy Moira Angela Darling?"

Wendy cringed inwardly. When Pintzer invoked a girl's full name, she was in a particularly peevish mood indeed. At such times, the best results were often obtained with meek silence and very small nods.

When Wendy didn't answer, Pintzer peered more closely at the stationery and caught sight of the merry mermaid's precariously mounted shell ensemble. Her already pinched face fell into a vehement scowl as she snapped, "Fanciful nonsense, I see! As if you need any more of that sort of thing." Her eyes narrowed in disgust. "It is _not proper _for a Reddon lady, and I will not have such tripe polluting this institution." With a quick motion, she snatched the stationery from the desk and began ripping the pages into orderly pieces.

Wendy's mouth tightened as she watched the destruction of the stationery. It had been a gift from Michael, and one he had saved up a good long time to get her. He would have been heartbroken to see its ignominious end. The mere thought of it sent icy waves of rebellion through Wendy.

Something must have shown on her face, for she suddenly found Pintzer staring stonily at her.

"Do you have something you wish to say, Ms. Darling?"

Wendy smiled ingratiatingly up at the formidable countenance and spoke in her most charming fashion. "I'm afraid I have been so awestruck by your profound words and fitting acts that I find myself positively speechless."

Pintzer stared at her, momentarily stunned by the impudent mockery. Then, she flushed. The first slap to Wendy's face was sharp and sudden, seeming to echo in the stark quiet of the room. The second caught Wendy on the ear, the third on the jaw.

Wendy's eyes darkened, and she seemed to regard Pintzer with a sort of imperious detachment.

_As if she were some untouchable princess_, thought Pintzer with a sneer. _Impudent wretch. _She delivered several more rather nasty blows in an almost perfunctory manner.

And still Wendy measured Pintzer with that cool stare, now seemingly somewhat amused, which only served to inflame Pintzer further. _Clearly_, said the stare, _you are very insignificant, indeed_.

Pintzer flushed again, and raised her hand for a blow that would stop that arrogant look. _Perhaps permanently. A little lisp from a few missing teeth would instill a certain meekness into the blasted girl-_

And then, at that very moment, something flashed in Wendy's eyes and hooked Pintzer, freezing her in place. She remained standing there, in just that position, for several very, very quiet moments. There was something in those frosty eyes, something brutal and predatory that caught her and flayed her on the spot, exposing her deep self-loathing and fear. Something that saw, and knew, and dismissed her as unworthy.

Inside, Pintzer began to crumple under the weight of that unforgiving gaze, and, in her silent torment, she forgot to breathe for a moment. And then another moment. And another.

With a strangled gasp, she tore her eyes from Wendy and fled the room.


	3. Two: The Story

Chapter Two: The Story

"The old bull dog certainly did leave in a hurry," observed Beth as she wandered over from her own desk to join Wendy. She grinned as she rested her elbows on Wendy's desk, savoring the image of Pintzer's somewhat hasty and rather comic retreat. "Probably felt ashamed of battering a young girl, I should think. Though," she amended, "that's assuming human decency is a trait approved by Madame Reddon. Might not be proper, you know."

Wendy didn't give any notice that she had even heard Beth. Beth waved a hand in front of Wendy's eyes and, when she got no response, became rather worried for her. Laying her hand against one reddened cheek, Beth tried to get Wendy's gaze to focus on her. "Wendy, love - are you all right? Pintzer didn't knock your brains about too much, did she? We'll never forgive her if we don't find out what happens to that rogue princess of yours and her handsome young thief."

Wendy remained unaccountably silent, her gaze fixed unwaveringly ahead. Shivers were marching with chilled efficiency down her spine and a vision of forget-me-not blue eyes drifted languidly through her frenetic thoughts, smoothing the jagged edges. For a moment, Wendy knew them, recognized them - eyes as fierce and cold as winter stars. They offered a silent invitation - and then they were gone.

Wendy closed her eyes, her breaths quick and shallow.

Looking down at Wendy, Beth decided that Wendy required a good rousing to free her from this solemn mood. She gathered Wendy in her arms and rested her chin on Wendy's rigid shoulder, speaking matter-of-factly. "Honestly, I can't think what Pintzer will do when she finds her best knickers dusted with itching powder and has to blame someone _besides_ you, darling. I don't think she can conceive of anyone else with the proper overdose of insane adventure." Beth gave a wicked little laugh and waggled her eyebrows forebodingly. "Little does she know you've been grooming us all in secret."

Wendy was startled into laughter. She grabbed a conveniently located ruler and swatted at the back of Beth's pony tail, smiling gloriously despite her aching jaw. "I detest you, you know - can't even let a girl enjoy a good sulk."

Beth grinned mischievously and scrabbled for another ruler to defend herself with. "I thought you detested sulking. No moping for you, my pet, that was the philosophy - en guarde!" She swatted at Wendy's fingers.

Wendy blocked easily and poked Beth deftly in the stomach. "Yes, well, I thought perhaps that run-in with Pintzer might have been worthy of a good sulk." Another poke. "Or ten." A sudden jab to the ribs. "The lizard-tongued, cross-eyed harpy." A sharp slash to the arm. "She wouldn't recognize beauty if it danced a waltz on top of her nose!" A wicked slap on the wrist. "She wouldn't know grace if it sang an aria announcing its presence to her!" A ruthless stab at the shoulder. "She wouldn't see wit if it slammed into the ground in front of her and bloody glowed!"

Beth laughed as she attempted to dodge another jab to her solar plexus. "Oof. Now that's the Wendy I know and love." She slapped away the attack to her midsection and gave a hearty thump to an unprotected wrist. "Though, Wendy dear, you must admit that sulking is a bit different from fainting, which is about where you were headed."

A sliver of a memory pricked Wendy for a moment. _Winter stars_, it whispered.

Wendy gave it a very firm mental glare and then even more firmly ignored it.

She then proceeded to launch herself at Beth, her hand a blazing flash of wood. "How dare you insult me so, impudent girl! As if egregious amounts of pain would cause me to faint!"

Dashing to a sturdier line of defense behind a wooden desk, Beth fended off a flurry of slashes. Seeing her opening, she smiled. "Well then, as you're quite impervious to such things, you shan't mind when I run you through!" She lunged, ruler aiming for the vulnerable heart.

Lightning quick, Wendy arced her torso to the side so that Beth's ruler hit air. "Ah, but my dear Beth, that's only if you can get to me!" A few more nimble blows and Beth's ruler careened across the room in a rather picturesque curve.

Wendy's ruler pressed into the tender flesh of Beth's neck. With a feral smile, Wendy forced Beth back a step. "Now, was someone saying something about running someone through?"

Raising her hands in the air, Beth used her most diplomatic tones. "Now, now - remember, if you please, that I am not that detestable inflictor of the aforementioned egregious pain. Therefore, please keep your deadly jabs to a minimum and save your true vengeance for the deft placement of itching powder in certain unprotected knickers." An amused smile tweaked her lips as Wendy lowered the ruler. "You're really quite clever with that ruler-sword of yours, darling. Where did you learn your tricks?"

Wendy's eyes gleamed. "In a place called Neverland. There were pirates at the time - very nasty ones. And one in particular, their captain, was the slyest and cruelest of all. Elegant and canny, mind you. Dashing, even. But a colder fiend you would not find."

Beth, pleased with this new surge of Let's Pretend, flopped down on the nearest bed."I see. Very kind of him to teach you, especially with him being so wickedly cruel and such."

Wendy grinned and flopped down on the bed next to Beth. "No, silly girl - it was a boy who taught me. We fought together against the pirates and most particularly against their captain."

Sarah flopped down on the bed as well, keenly interested. "A boy? What sort of boy? Was he handsome?"

Wendy winked at her. "Devilishly gorgeous. He was a lovely boy, and his name was Peter Pan. He was made of equal parts forest and sunlight and secrets." She gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, then leapt up suddenly. "And he could fly!" She swooped down on the unprotected Beth with ruler in hand, which resulted in a squelched yelp from the bed. "It makes sword tactics much more interesting, believe you me. You have to think in three dimensions." A few slashes hummed through the air near Beth's head, which resulted in a somewhat more exasperated yip. This was then followed by a jaunty tackle on Beth's part, which resulted with Wendy disarmed and pinned on the bed. Much giggling accompanied the onslaught.

"Ah, Wendy - I do adore you! Tell us about your Neverland." Beth rubbed her sore ribs with a rueful expression. "We can get to sword tactics later."

"But what about the rogue princess?" asked Lexie plaintively.

"She'll keep," said Beth authoritatively. "Now tell us about Neverland."

"And more on this Peter Pan," demanded Sarah. "I'd like to hear of a boy made of forest and sunlight and secrets." She giggled, teasing. "Especially those secrets, Miss Wendy Darling."

Unbaited, Wendy smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Ah, but it's changed since I was there last, I'm sure."

Beth raised an eyebrow, undeterred. "I'll not be put off by that gambit, madame - surely you must know what it's like now. And at the very least, you can tell us what it was like _then_."

"If you wish it," acquiesced Wendy, laughing softly.

"We do," said Beth, as she curled into a comfortable position on the bed. "Now, on with your story, Madame Storyteller."

Wendy settled back onto the bed, legs crossed, eyes decidedly bright. "Gather round, my dears," she said, "and let me tell you of adventures in Neverland." Much rustling and shuffling was heard. When it quieted, Wendy continued. "It all began with Peter Pan. Specifically, it began with Peter coming to the nursery window to hear my stories-"

"See?" said Sarah gleefully as she wriggled closer to Wendy. "Everyone likes them, really. Even wonderful boys made of forest."

Wendy's smile was wry. "Yes, I suppose _everyone_ in Neverland rather liked them. It's a prized skill there, storytelling. It can make you quite...in demand."

Rachel quirked an eyebrow at this. "Can it, now? Quite convenient, really, what with you being so good at storytelling and all."

Chagrin colored Wendy's answer. "No, not always so convenient. Particularly when it results in being held at sword point by cruelly devious pirate captains."

This produced a collective gasp from the around the room.

"Really," continued Wendy, ignoring the gasp, "when you come right down to it, it's a decided penalty." She paused, contemplative for a moment. "But storytelling, whatever its consequences might be, nevertheless begins this story..."

And so Wendy told them of her previous adventures in Neverland - complete with boys made of mischief, pirates made of malice, a thimble, a hook, and the exact timbre of triumphant crowing. Several hours passed, and the clock struck a lazy, sonorous one in the morning. Not an eye, however, was closed.

"...and so we would always remember returning home in grand style, fairy dust blazing a trail behind. Well," Wendy amended, "at least sometimes just before falling asleep."

Sighs of satisfaction arose from various spots around the bed.

"Ah, Wendy," whispered Sarah dreamily, "but you haven't seen Peter since then? Your boy of sunlight and forest?"

"And such lovely secrets," Lexie added.

Wendy gazed at the ceiling, pretending for a moment that it was a Neverland night sky. "Indeed, no. Not since that night, despite his promise." A subtle sadness curled into her words, causing more sighs from the girls.

"Tsk," said Beth, "wretched promise-breaker." And then, with a wicked smile, she continued, "Pity that captain of yours had to be eaten by the crocodile - he sounded quite dashing."

Wendy snorted in a thoroughly un-Reddon-approved fashion. "Dashingly wicked and dashingly cruel and a dashing silver-tongued liar. Me as his obsession instead of Peter? Honestly!- I can't think why I believed it for even a moment."

"Perhaps," said Beth, eyes wide in mock innocence, "because a certain storyteller secretly wanted more of a certain dashingly wicked captain's attention?"

Wendy bolted upright, grabbed the nearest pillow, and buried Beth's head under it.

"Just perhaps?" came the poignant, if somewhat muffled, inquiry. This was followed by heartier efforts on Wendy's part with the pillow, though a rather rueful smile played on her lips.

After a few moments, a rather fainter inquiry emerged from beneath the pillow. "Erm, mighm I hamm smmm air, Wmmdy?"

Wendy laughed and released Beth. "And that, my dear, will teach you when to tease those of us gifted with a tactical pillow advantage."

"Yes," replied Beth, a bit weakly, "I really must remember to remove all available objects from your vicinity the next time." She perched on the edge of the bed, surveying the material in range. Satisfied that everything was reasonably innocuous, she grinned and pressed on. "Now, about that dashing, yet dastardly, captain..."

Wendy laughed again, bouncing delightedly back onto the bed. "You're relentless, Bethie. Fine, then, about the captain-"

"The _dashing_ captain," reminded Sarah, who had thoroughly enjoyed the descriptions of his curled black hair and eyes blue as forget-me-nots.

"The dashing captain," amended Wendy. "And he certainly was dashing - manipulative, arrogant schemer that he was." A wistful coldness shimmered through her eyes. "Made of daggers and twilight and artful lies. A creature of black waters and devious practicality. An exemplary villain. My villain." She fell silent, contemplative as she looked out across the room at precisely nothing at all. After a few heartbeats, she closed her eyes, and the wistful coldness permeated her voice. "But no - he is gone. _Gone_." The harshness of her tone made some of the littler girls jump. "The crocodile took her tribute," said Wendy with finality, "and there is nothing more of Captain James Hook."

The room went very, very quiet. Several of the girls felt the awkwardness of the silence, and fidgeted.

After some moments, Wendy spoke again in a very low, very soft voice. "There is, however, something new in Neverland since last I was there. Or rather, some _place_ new. A place truly magnificent. It is just beyond the Black Castle, with its looming, dripping towers and glittering ill-gotten treasure. Just on the other side of the castle, where the mist begins. It swirls with moonlight and whispers and midnight imaginings, running and shifting and changing with the passing of every breath. It watches and it sees and, above all, it _waits_." Wendy looked up suddenly at the rest of the girls, her eyes strange, almost haunted. "Oh yes, it waits. For the ones with the right words and the right dreams to give it their imaginings, to have their wishes become caught in its dance and melded into its core. It is the realm," she whispered, her eyes very wide, "of Perhaps."

A reverential quiet trailed after her words.

"Perhaps in Neverland," said Beth at last, rather drolly, "It has a certain ring to it."

"I'm quite glad you approve," said Wendy dryly, returning more to her usual mood. "I stay up nights absolutely pining for your approval."

"It's a good thing I'm so generous, then," countered Beth innocently.

This caused a pillow to be thrown rather near Beth's head, coming conspicuously from Rachel's side of the room.

"Oh do hush, Beth!" said Rachel, grinning unrepentantly at Beth's offended look. "Let Wendy tell us about Perhaps."

A chorus of agreement resounded around the room.

"Very well then," said Beth, bowing her head, "I capitulate to the demands of the rabble. Tell on, O Storyteller."

Wendy smiled wryly. "Why thank you, Beth. Ever so kind of you." Her eyes glittered as the story mood coalesced. "Now, the realm of Perhaps is ruled by a man, a man who is just like his realm. Like... dragonfly wings and the lyric hooting of the owl. Dark - but very beautiful. And this man has many, many secrets."

"With a description like that, he surely ought to," observed Beth.

"Indeed," agreed Wendy, smiling again. "First, however, I shall describe his appearance - for we must have a clear picture of him in mind. He is tall in stature, possessing elegant, sharp features and long hair black as shadows. His eyes can be cruel, and cold. They sparkle with the chilling brightness of winter stars." Wendy's breath caught for a moment, as a particularly persevering memory blazed into focus.

She regarded this memory intently, and it, somewhat predatorily, regarded her in turn. After a small trial of wills, a mutual agreement was reached. The memory glided into a convenient mental corner, nestling. It would wait.

"Now this man," continued Wendy, "moves with a feral sort of grace, a fierce beauty. He is a master manipulator, and words are his particular skill."

"I admit," said Beth, "to seeing some resemblance between this man and a certain late pirate captain."

This time, the pillow from across the room didn't miss Beth's head.

"Fine, fine," she said, waving her hands at Wendy after she sat up again, "go on."

Wendy smiled, her eyes still glittering. "I do admit there might indeed be some resemblance between this particular man and the dread captain Hook. But then, it is my Story after all. I am allowed to have consistent taste."

"True enough," said Beth. "Back to your master manipulator, then. Does he have a name?"

"That he does. He is the Jack-"

"_The _Jack?" interrupted Rachel.

"Yes," replied Wendy smoothly, "_the_ Jack. The title of the ruler of Perhaps is _Jack_, for Jacks are tricksters and magicians - and to rule Perhaps properly, one must be both. And this Jack (for that is his first name as well) rules Perhaps quite well, indeed - he is the clever, crafty Jack of Stories. Terribly, terribly clever. That is what won him the rule of Perhaps, you know - his cleverness. For any one of his fey subjects could match him in illusions of glamour, any one of his goblins in cruelty, and any one of his mermaids in ruthlessness - but cleverness, that is where he can best them all. He full name is Jack Winterkiss, the surname given to him by his subjects after proving himself their master in the sly art of words."

"Winter _Kiss_, eh?" said Beth, raising an eyebrow. "Is he cold in more ways than one?"

Wendy's smile was small and sharp. "It is a name descriptive of his manner - silky, smooth, beguiling in speech. But the glittering, liquid words can hide a core of ice, all the more sharp for being cloaked beneath. Hence, it is the 'kiss of winter' - subtle, deft, and very, very deadly."

"Deadly!?" echoed Lexie, with some incredulity. "Words?! Surely words can't do any real harm. Well, unless they're magic, I suppose. Are they?"

Wendy fixed a heavy-lidded look on Lexie, who subsequently felt a small chill run through her. Wendy's smile was cold. "Quite magic. Oh, yes." Her voice became soft, rhythmic, gliding on hidden music just out of memory-shot. "Every word in Perhaps has the potential to summon the half-dreams which make up its substance, gives it form. Perhaps is a place of the imagination, a place longing for strong will to give it shape. Since every word is an act of will, every word uttered with strong will can be very, very potent. A word could become a caress, a haven, a weapon in this place which is perpetually shifting, constantly inconstant. Thus does the Jack rule the realm, with his lithe words, his canny manipulations, and his fierce will."

Silence hung for a moment, as the listeners considered this.

"Well," said Beth at last, "so much for swords. Who needs razor-sharp metal when you can have razor-sharp repartee?"

Shy giggles crept out from the corners of the room. Beth inclined her head slightly, graciously accepting the sanction of the previously censuring rabble. "Speaking of razor-sharp repartee, I gather the Jack and Peter don't get on very well. Subtle nuances of conversation don't quite seem Peter's cup of tea."

"If I didn't know better, Beth," said Rachel, "I'd say you approved of Jack far more than you approved of Peter."

Beth smiled. "I confess to also having...ah, what was it you said, Wendy? Consistent taste. I do so love a villain."

"But you don't know that Jack's a villain!" protested Sarah.

Beth rolled her eyes. "Let us take stock for a moment. Jack Winterkiss is the lord and master of a dark kingdom that practically oozes with the less-than-pristine denizens of Neverland. Peter Pan is the boy of sunlight and forest. Et voila! - fated adversaries. And since Peter must be the hero of the tale, where exactly does that leave our dear Jack?"

"He couldn't be, er, neutral?" inquired Lexie.

Beth snorted. "With Peter around? I shall hazard a guess and say no."

Wendy's laughter broke through the discussion. "True enough. He is most certainly not neutral when it comes to Peter. To call his sentiments passionate dislike is perhaps an understatement. But the ire doesn't stem from what you might think, my dears. Jack is not envious of Peter's youth nor is he aggrieved at the loss of a limb. No, Jack's...dislike...has to do with the way the sides have polarized in Neverland. Peter has become the pulsing core of the light side; Jack, over time, has become the nexus of its darker parts."

Beth's face twitched in a desperate attempt not to guffaw. "I shall," she choked out, "make no comment."

A resigned "too late" wafted over from Rachel.

"Lascivious point taken," said Wendy, grinning. "However, the analogy remains - there is a dichotomy in Neverland, and both Jack and Peter are necessary to anchor their respective parts. There is, however, an imbalance. Peter rules the golden, steamy jungles and the shimmering lagoons - and he can travel freely to the midnight realm. Jack, however, cannot leave Perhaps - he is not free to travel the light side."

"Well," sniffed Sarah, "that seems a bit unfair. Why not?"

"Because," said Wendy, "Perhaps is, in fact, _exactly_ as Jack wills it to be. Amorphous without his will, it has become woven into the flesh of his dreams and his consciousness, taking what form it can from him. It needs him to be within its shifting borders in order to exist, for none of Jack's subjects have the strength to hold the root of it within them. Only Jack. And because of this, if he leaves it - even for a moment - it and all the creatures who live within it will fade into mist and oblivion. That is the power of the Jack - that is why they must choose one. And while our Jack may be ruthless, he is not heartless. He would not doom all his subjects for a mere glimpse of the afternoon sun on the sea." Wendy seemed to reflect on this for a long moment, before a conspicuously large yawn overtook her. "But I think it's time for us to be getting to bed. I shall have to tell you more of the Jack of Perhaps another night."

A chorus of disapproval followed this pronouncement.

"Now, now, my dears," cooed Beth, "Perhaps will be there again. Or if it's not, we shall throttle our Storyteller until it makes an appearance. Never fear!"

"How comforting," remarked Wendy dryly.

"Yes, well, that just gives you incentive not to keep us in the dark, doesn't it?" replied Beth smartly. "Now, off with you all!" She began shooing the other girls to their beds with mock severity. Several of them stuck their tongues out at her, causing her to grin. She scurried over to Wendy to give her a kiss on the cheek and then darted off to her own bed. Within moments, the room was quiet.

Conveniently enough, this left Wendy ample time to examine the very persistent memory which had been patiently biding its time in the back corner of her mind. Unfortunately, being quite sleepy, she dropped off before she could do much of anything about it.

Which suited the memory just fine. If memories could laugh with the languid satisfaction of a hunter, that is exactly what this one would have done.

However, as it couldn't, it contented itself with flashing a vision of winter star eyes and the shadow of a smile through Wendy's subconscious musings. On the sighing breath of a childhood dreams came its message, in tones of midnight and secrets:

_I thank you for this most generous form._

And then it did laugh, after all.


	4. Three: The Jack of Perhaps

Chapter Three - The Jack of Perhaps

Wendy looked straight ahead, blinked, and remained thoroughly confused by what was before her. There was a courtyard wall, and that was all well and good. Said courtyard wall, however, was covered in some sort of flora which might or might not be lichen. Now, said flora was growing quite blithely in the courtyard wall, which certainly _suggested_ that it might be lichen. (Ordinary plant life wouldn't have been able to eke out an existence from the bare rock, of course.) Also, said flora appeared to be a bunch of surprised-looking eyeballs on craggy stalks, which lent credence to the idea that it was no ordinary plant life.

_Eyeball lichen_, she decided.

_Eyeball lichen_?! scoffed a very skeptical back corner of her mind.

She had to admit it had a point. Nonetheless, "eyeball lichen" was the best she could do for the moment, so eyeball lichen it was.

Wendy peered at the eyeball lichen, her brow furrowed. The eyeballs peered brazenly back, blinking occasionally. At last, she tentatively reached forward to touch one of the craggy stalks, and the whole plant shied back with a sudden jerk.

Wendy withdrew her hand, still looking very hard at the eyeball lichen.

The eyeball lichen attempted to blink nonchalantly.

Wendy snorted. "Honestly - as if I'm going to believe _that_. I just saw you react to me, so you're obviously quite sentient."

The lichen rustled up once, and then down.

Wendy was fascinated. "I didn't know that, er... you... could, er... shrug."

The lichen gave a rather smugger blink.

"I see," said Wendy, still bemused. "I don't suppose you can talk, can you?"

The stalks rustled reprovingly.

"Yes, well - that would be asking a bit much, given that you have no apparent mouth", she mused. "Though you _are_ remarkably expressive."

The stalks waved in a decidedly self-satisfied manner.

As she continued to look with some bemusement at the eyeball lichen, something niggled at the back of Wendy's mind. Something was not quite right. But what? Admittedly, the eyeball lichen were a touch odd, but that really wasn't it. After a few more moments, it occurred to her what it was.

To put it simply, she was in a courtyard with a very nice stone wall and had precious little recollection as to how exactly she had arrived there.

Also, she seemed to think the eyeball lichen were only _a touch_ odd.

_A ha!_ _This must be a dream_. Dream logic would happily permit eyeball lichen to only be slightly odd. In addition, the details of the courtyard had a certain shifting misty quality to them, a lurid brightness. To be sure, stones existed in the real world, but they didn't glisten in the moonlight quite like _that_. And there was grass and sky in the real world, of course, but the grass was never _that _green nor the sky _that_ velvety black, shot through with such shining stars.

To be frank, the real world just wasn't this pretty.

Wendy smirked a little to herself, murmuring, "Most definitely a dream. Here's to my imagination."

_Indeed._

Wendy started at the sinuous thought that laced easily through her mind, but it was gone almost instantly.

She stared very hard at the stones of the courtyard wall for a moment. The water on them really was rather ridiculously bright, glittering in the soft moonlight. A memory washed subtly through her. "How lovely - I haven't seen water glitter like that since-"

She stopped short, and took a deep breath. In that breath, the scent invaded her - crystal stars and chilling nighttime lagoons, sea and salt and leaves and forest.

The scent of Neverland.

But no - more shaded, more textured, sharper, darker-

"I think sssshe's beginning to get it, Ssssnerr," hissed a crackly voice from behind her.

"Clever little girlie, issssn't she, Bren?" hissed another voice, also behind her.

_Girlie?!_ Vexation burned through Wendy as she whirled around. She stopped short, vexation wiped clean. Two sinuous, winged creatures were perched on the branches of a tree just to her right. They were smiling in a most unpleasant fashion, which gave Wendy ample view of far too many sharp teeth.

She regarded them for a chill moment, noting the predatory amusement in their glistening eyes.

_Do not appear weak._

The thought came unbidden, and Wendy quite agreed with it. If the stone felt real enough, those sharp teeth would as well. What she needed was a little clever subterfuge.

_A game of Let's Pretend. Let's begin, shall we?_

She took a deep breath and thought of the most menacing figure she could. _Hook, of course. _What must it be like to move as Hook did, with such utter confidence? What did it feel like to have a very step be a threat, every look a brutal reminder of hidden violence? What was it like to be completely in command of those cowering before you?

She felt her features grow colder, more arrogant.

_Yes, like...this._

Rapidly sinking into character, she allowed a strangely comfortable hint of coiled danger to run through her. Slowly, deliberately, she advanced on the two creatures with the fingers of her right hand curled ever so slightly. "And who," she breathed, "are _you_ to call me girlie?"

The creatures froze, malevolence bleeding away. After a few rapid glances at each other, they straightened up and backed off while performing a series of undulations vaguely reminiscent of a salute.

Wendy regarded this display with an imperious little smile as controlled relief fluttered in the back of her mind.

Her heart gave a sudden lurch as the creatures moved suddenly down the tree, gracefully arcing among the green vines and black branches until they lay curled a little way from her. They performed their saluting undulations once more and spoke as one. "If you would follow ussss, Ssssstoryteller."

They began to slither off.

Wendy looked calmly at their receding forms and remained staunchly where she was.

The creatures suddenly realized this and returned. "Will you not come with usssss, Ssssstoryteller?"

Wendy smiled slightly down at them. "And why exactly is it that should I follow you...Bren and Snerr, was it? Yes. Tell me that, if you would be so kind. I suggest you be brief and convincing, as well. As it is, I am perfectly content to remain with the eyeball lichen."

The eyeball lichen could be heard to rustle a rather smug approval.

Bren and Snerr exchanged glances. "If you've conversssssed with the lichen, he already knowsssss you are here."

Wendy's heart gave a violent lurch. "He?"

"The Jack."

Thunder rolled overhead, sudden and jarring.

_Right on cue_, though Wendy irreverently as she glanced up.

Bren and Snerr began to undulate in a rather agitated manner. They were nervous.

A soft laugh moved along Wendy's mouth, near the kiss at the corner. "Ah...I see. The Jack knows I'm here, so you're to lead me to him. And shall I also assume that there will be some...," she cocked her head to the side, as if considering, " _unpleasantness_ should you fail in your task, Bren and Snerr?"

Twin sets of glistening black eyes glared up at her resentfully. "Thissss would be a wise assssumption." They clearly expected her to make their task more difficult now.

_Lovely, _she thought to herself, _reluctant guides with very sharp teeth. _

Out loud, she answered, "Well, we can't have that, can we?" She took a deep breath, drawing in the scent of Perhaps. "Lead on."

Bren and Snerr blinked at her, with some confusion. Her immediate acquiescence was evidently unexpected.

Wendy smiled to herself. _Keep them off-balance and they'll never see you coming. _"Unless you'd rather I make my own way?"

"No! That will be unnecessssssary." As one, Bren and Snerr gave a small sigh of relief. "Please follow ussssssss." And with that, they slid off down the path.

* * *

The courtyard was labyrinthine. Wendy was rather glad that Bren and Snerr seemed so very sure of their way through the wildly twisting hedgeways. Patches of eyeball lichen alternated with roses along the walls, where an occasional white statue claimed a place. One statue Bren and Snerr quickly glided past was of a mermaid rising out of a pool to talk to an impish boy whistling at the edge. The mermaid's hand had snaked out to grab the boy's wrist, and the boy was in the process of merrily eluding her. His eyes sparkled as he arched his body gracefully out of reach.

"Ah, Peter," breathed Wendy quietly, as she stood admiring the craftwork of the stone. The sculptor had captured the insolence of his smile to perfection. She began to walk towards it to better appreciate its detail, just for a moment...

A fierce hiss from Bren and Snerr froze her where she stood. They moved around her, baring their many sharp teeth and scowling.

Though her pulse ripped wildly through her, Wendy's voice remained neutral. "There's no need for that, really...I was just admiring the stonework-"

"That," spat Bren, "isss no ssstone." He hissed violently again and lurched between Wendy and the statue, snapping his teeth.

"Well," Wendy ventured diplomatically, "it looks an awful lot like stone. Rather like the rest of the statues in the courtyard."

"The rest of the _sssstatues_?" rasped Snerr. "No, it couldn't be," he hissed after a moment. "No, it musssst be. Of course. She doessssn't see them, Bren."

"Doesn't ssssee them? That's ridiculoussss," replied Bren, still snapping at the air between Wendy and the statue. "Thisssss is just a tesssst for us. And I could usssse a bit of help here, Ssssnerr."

Snerr lunged forward and snapped at another bit of air. "No, Bren," insisted Snerr, "she'sssss susceptible to their glamour. Just look at her!"

Bren spared a look for Wendy, while dodging another phantom attacker.

Wendy looked coldly back at him.

"She'sssssss mortal, then?" replied Bren skeptically. "Impossssssible. What would the Jack want with a mortal?" He reared up and hissed at yet another bit of air. "She'd have no real power here."

Wendy felt her breath go very still in her body.

"She's the Sssssstoryteller, you fool!" countered Snerr. "Of coursssssse she has power here."

Wendy remained very quiet, storing this very interesting piece of knowledge away for future use.

"And that'ssss why the Jack wants her," continued Snerr, dodging suddenly to the left. "And if she happensssss to be mortal enough to be susceptible to their glamour, we better make sure she ceasssssses to be."

Wendy's eyebrows jumped at this last remark. Ceased to be what? Mortal?

"Sssstoryteller!" hissed Snerr sharply at her. "Go to the eyeball lichen on the wall and trace your fingerssss through the ssstalksss. Then rub your fingersssss acrossssss your eyessss."

She didn't move. "And that will do what exactly?"

"Sssssstop the effects of their glamour!" rattled Bren. "Now, do it!"

Wendy noted with some alarm that a gouge had appeared in Bren's smooth black scales, and it was bleeding a thick, green ichor.

"Ssssstoryteller!" hissed Snerr, with some desperation. "Pleassssse!"

Wendy, startled into action by the pleading tone, hurried to the eyeball lichen on the wall nearby. Murmuring a gentle "pardon me", she plunged her fingers among the stalks and then traced her dewy fingers across her eyelids, allowing some drops to fall into her eyes. The moisture was pleasantly cool.

"Now look at your 'ssssstatue', Ssstoryteller," hissed Bren, with some disgust.

Wendy opened her eyes and looked. And then promptly stopped breathing.

Her statue had been replaced by masses of writhing, knobby tentacles that snaked out in muscular ropes. The base of the tentacles surrounded a circular, sucking maw centered in a woody-looking substance.

_Like trees from nightmares, _she thought, with a shudder._ Efficient predators. Patient._

The one currently engaged in a vicious battle with Bren and Snerr was a particularly nasty specimen indeed. Bren and Snerr did not appear to be holding up well at all. More gashes had appeared along Bren's smooth scales, and one of Snerr's wings had a ragged hole torn through the delicate membrane.

"What are you?" she gasped softly in the direction of the nightmare tree.

"Gwyndilonssss," retorted Bren snappishly, as he dodged the sharp end of a tentacle pursuing him.

Wendy tasted the name on her lips, wondering over it. Images blew softly threw her mind, swirls of half-stories and history and possibility. But this was not the time. She needed to deal with the gwyndilon that threatened her _now_, the one causing her heart to hammer and her body to freeze with horror. In her mind, a morbid fascination with the gwyndilon's fierce nature curled, a sudden respect for its savage strength.

_That's good, _whispered a silky voice in her mind._ Use that to your advantage_. _And this._

A shiver rustled along her spine as she closed her eyes. When she opened them, winter stars blazed behind them.

She regarded Bren for a long, cold moment, her face etched with polite disdain. When she spoke, her words were chips of ice. "I did not address you, snake goblin." She turned curtly away from Bren and looked directly at the gwyndilon. She inclined her head to it, indicating her respect. "I asked you. And I will ask you again. What are you?"

The massive mound of writhing tentacles paused. Bren and Snerr took the opportunity to lurch gracefully out of reach and curl unabashedly behind Wendy, nursing their numerous wounds.

Several smaller tentacles wriggled through the air, and a slow, deep, rasping voice answered. "We are as he says. We are gwyndilons."

Wendy continued, cold and precise. "And you prey on the unwary mortals who cross your path in this courtyard?"

Low, dry laughter like branches on stone came from the gwyndilon. "We are not so discerning as that. The unwary anything will do. But mortals fall prey to the glamour most easily - and then fall prey to us." A tentacle snaked closer to Wendy.

Wendy, unperturbed, took a step back to remain out of reach. Bren and Snerr hissed in agitation, but remained very close behind her.

"Then you are very efficient, indeed." She regarded them thoughtfully. "And very beautiful."

The snaking tentacles paused and lashed suddenly downwards. "Do not mock us."

"I do not mock," countered Wendy. "You are well-designed for your purpose, graceful and cunning. That I respect. That I find beautiful."

The smaller tentacles paused again, and slowly the low, dry laughter came again. "Oh, such a clever girl, with your twisting words. I am quite amused by you." Several tentacles shook gently in mirth, it seemed. "You'll do well here. Fearless, inventive - Perhaps is well-suited to your kind."

_My kind? _A smile played across Wendy's lips, and she bowed her head. "Thank you." She lifted her head. "What is your name, gwyndilon?"

Tentacles shuddered, paused. "What is yours?"

"I am called Wendy."

"Ah...the Storyteller. That explains much." Several tentacles waved lazily with approval.

Consternation twisted through Wendy, cracking the ice in her voice. "Was there an announcement? Honestly - everyone seems to know."

Dry laughter shook the smaller tentacles. "You might say that."

Wendy caught the phrasing. "And what else might I say?"

"That one is always wise to be aware of those who interest the Jack."

A cold electricity flickered through Wendy. "I see." She closed her eyes, willing her heart to stop its wild hammering with limited success. When she spoke again, her voice was cool as the sea. "But let us not be side-tracked - what is your name, gwyndilon?"

Several tentacles flicked, agitated. The gwyndilon did not like giving up its name. "Don't you want to know why the Jack is interested in you?"

Wendy wondered briefly why the gwyndilon was offering that bit of information freely. _As if it were bait._ Then, she remembered something which made very good sense: Common rules of asking questions of fey creatures included the three-times rule. Ask a question three times, and the one being questioned had to answer with something truthful. There were, of course, several ways of steering the querent away from asking the question the third time, which is what made it sporting.

Wendy was quite willing to wager that the three-times rule applied in Perhaps.

"Very tempting bait," said Wendy, her eyes flashing with cold amusement. "But, for the third time, gwyndilon, _what is your name_?"

A sigh like dead leaves slipped through the courtyard. "You may call me Ermenth and I will respond."

Wendy smiled, and it did not reach her eyes. Now, she had leverage with the gwyndilon. "Then Ermenth, I ask you to assure me safe passage through this courtyard and grant me your aid should I require it against others during my passage through this courtyard, as a favor to," she paused for a moment, before finding the right words, "one of my kind."

The gwyndilon considered this, and then replied, "May it be so, Storyteller."

Wendy's smile widened, and it still did not reach her eyes. That wording was blatantly insufficient. "But _will_ it be so, Ermenth?"

A soft, dry chuckle slipped along the wind. "Oh, you _are_ a clever one, aren't you? Yes, Wendy, it _will_ be so. And I shall collect my favor in return later."

"Thank you, Ermenth. That is acceptable."

"So pacted, Storyteller."

Wendy paused at the odd wording, sensing there was a deeper importance to those words. But at last, she bowed to the gwyndilon respectfully, straightened, and turned sharply around. "Bren! Snerr! Let's go."

Bren and Snerr eyed her in startlement, unmoving and still bleeding freely.

"Unless you'd prefer to stay."

As one, they darted away from the gwyndilon, escaping into the shadows of the courtyard.

Wendy followed in their wake, eyes blazing with cold fire.

* * *

A short while later, Wendy's thoughts spiraled away from the cold, cold precision that had overtaken them and retroactive panic set in. The thundering pulse inside her head sang with the ripe edge of hysteria. She was fairly sure that her heart would burst through her chest momentarily, and that Bren and Snerr - though surprised - would enjoy licking the bloody pulp from their skin. Of course, she mused idly, then they would have to explain her absence to the Jack...but she would still be just as dead. What exactly that would mean in this dreamscape, she wasn't quite sure, but she was fairly sure it wouldn't be as simple as waking up in bed back at Reddon House.

All in all, it was not a terribly comforting situation.

She stumbled suddenly behind Bren and Snerr. As one, they swiveled their heads around, tongues flickering. "Are you alright, Sssssstoryteller?"

There was concern there, but only an overtone. Bren and Snerr had a hungry look about them, and it wasn't just a hunger to fill their bellies. They were waiting for her to slip, to cede them some kind of control with her words. The snake goblins were underlings, true, but that didn't mean they weren't enterprising underlings.

Wendy smiled weakly. "Of course I'm alright."

Bren and Snerr slithered closer, heavy-lidded eyes still fixed on hers. "Are you quite sssssure?"

A violent chill rushed through her, and with it, that satin-smooth voice. _Remind them of who you are._

She blinked slowly, keeping her gaze on them. _Alright...let's pretend._

With a careful breath, she began the descent into the chilling confidence she had adopted before, slipping into the character like a deep, dark pool in her mind.

She inclined her head slightly, like a bird sighting two worms, and smiled a very savage smile. "With Ermenth as _my_ ally, I should be quite fine." Ermenth's tentacles whipped lazily through the air behind her with deadly force. "Don't you agree?"

Silence hung with the implied threat. Bren and Snerr continued to look at Wendy, measuring her. Wendy continued to look back, impenetrable as glass.

The snake goblins broke first. Ducking their heads, they swiveled back around and slithered off.

Wendy followed, wearing her cold, calculating mien like armor as the crash of the gwyndilon's tentacles punctuated her steps.

After several moments, Snerr spoke, carefully deferential, as he fell back to slither beside her. "You have great power, you know." He fixed an eye on her as he moved.

Wendy's lips curved in a small, polite smile. "Oh?"

"Yesss," said Bren, who was now slithering on her other side. "You have converssssed with the gwyndilons and received a name. Few know such thingssss."

"You have made an alliance with them," continued Snerr, still deferential. "They ally with no one."

Wendy raised an eyebrow. "No one?"

"No one ssssave the Jack," said Bren.

Wendy's smile became quite sly as she watched them. "Indeed. Fancy that."

Silence exploded, and remained. Bren and Snerr slithered forward abruptly. And did not look at her again.

This suited Wendy just fine - she could cease sparring now that they were sufficiently controlled.

_Well done,_ came the satin voice, rich with laughter like silver coins.

Wendy rather smugly agreed with it, and walked on in the silence of the courtyard.

The castle doors materialized before them, intricate black panels stretching into the glittering sky. Eyeball lichen blinked lazily from either side. One patch caught her gaze and winked saucily.

Wendy blinked, and felt a lop-sided smile sneak through her cool demeanor.

The rest of the eyeball lichen rustled its welcome to her, and the saucy patch fluttered something rude at the snake goblins.

Bren and Snerr gave the saucy patch decidedly sour looks. The eyeball lichen gleefully ignored them and motioned Wendy near. Wendy approached, careful to keep the snake goblins in her peripheral vision. The eyeball lichen flurried something dismissive at Bren and Snerr, who glanced at each other and then glowered at the eyeball lichen. The lichen, however, wasn't budging. Eventually, being snidely stared at by hundreds of eyes wore on the snake goblins' resolve. They undulated a salute for Wendy, and slid away from the castle doors.

Wendy watched them until their slithering forms had vanished back into the garden labyrinth. She then turned back to face the eyeball lichen and the very firmly shut doors. The carvings on the door panels were strange, and seemed to shift as she looked at them. She thought she almost caught sight of a face sliding through the leaves of the carved forest, but it slipped away under direct sight. She reached forward and slid her fingers across the black stone; she discovered the corner of a smile beneath her index finger, the faintest outline of lips quirked up.

Suddenly, the smile moved and shifted into something that caressed the edges of her fingertips. A quiet yelp escaped her and she withdrew her hand sharply, somewhat unnerved.

The doors opened then, slowly and silently, as she watched. Wendy stood there for a moment, peering into the waiting darkness.

It was quite obvious she was meant to go straight through the doors, plunging headlong into whatever was inside. She felt the thread of wicked curiosity tugging at her, enticing her. It was all very thrilling, the possibility of stepping into the unknown.

It just didn't seem terribly wise.

She glanced at the eyeball lichen, which waggled encouragingly at her.

And then, deep in the back of her mind, came the satin-smooth voice, _Come inside, darling._

Her pulse thundered in her throat, and it definitively wasn't fear. The Reddon-sanctioned portion of her mind staunchly refused to acknowledge exactly _what_ it was, however.

And so, feeling entirely too trusting, she walked through the castle doors. The darkness felt thicker than it should have, not empty at all but seething with...something. Small susurrations followed her movements, and Wendy remembered that walking through the castle doors really hadn't seemed a terribly wise plan.

The doors swung shut behind her as silently as they had opened. The darkness was a waiting thing.

"Ominous, all this whispering in the dark," she remarked, to no one in particular.

The susurrations stopped.

"Quite ominous," she amended. She walked forward slowly, trying to feel her way. She bumped into a wall, banging her toes. Turning and making a few choice remarks on the current state of darkness, she headed the other direction. And hit another wall. "Curse it," she grumbled, rubbing her ankle ruefully. "What I would give for a little light. Perhaps a soft violet color. Hmmm...yes, a soft violet light would be just lovely right now, just the color of the eyeball lichen. And if wishes were horses," she continued wryly, "then beggars wo-"

She broke off as a soft violet light filled the room.

Wendy's eyebrows jumped. "That was_ far_ too convenient."

The susurrations seemed quite amused. Wendy soon realized they came from patches of eyeball lichen strewn across the walls at various intervals. The violet light was coming from them.

She narrowed her eyes at the patches nearest her. "You little tricksters - are you trying to make me faint from fright?"

The lichen flurried wildly, turning a rather brilliant shade of mauve. It was most mortified.

Wendy sighed. "No, no - there's no need to be embarrassed. It was a lovely shade of violet. I was just a bit surprised at your timing."

The lichen rustled weakly.

"Really, it's all right," she said as she gently patted the nearest stalks.

The lichen seemed to accept this after a few more repentant flurries, and returned to its previous violet shade.

_Only I could come up with a dream that involved me comforting sentient plant-life, _she thought with some amusement as she turned to survey the now-lit room. In truth, it seemed to be more of a hallway, with lines of portraits on each side, continuing endlessly in both directions. No doors in sight - only the endless march of frames in either direction.

"Half a moment," muttered Wendy, as she turned sharply around, "there were doors that I _just _came through. Where are the doors?"

Patches of lichen fluttered their sympathy.

"Ah, so that's the way of it? Always switching around." Wendy snorted to herself. "It's a wonder anyone can get where they're going."

The lichen fluttered wryly.

"Yes, I suppose it must all work out in the end, or else it'd be rather trying for whoever lives here." She sighed. "Ah well. I'd better pick a direction and start walking. Which do you think, left or right?"

The lichen blinked at her and waggled a smart reply.

"You wouldn't go either way? That's not remarkably helpful, you know."

The lichen's reply was somewhat smug.

Wendy felt a wry smile steal across her lips. "Yes, I suppose you _do_ know. All right then - what do you suggest?"

A mass of innocent blinking commenced.

"I see," said Wendy. "So I should stand here and bat my eyes, then?" She sighed contemplatively. "I admit it doesn't seem terribly productive, but then, who am I to argue with the Jack's sentinels?"

Self-satisfaction blinked back at her.

It was then that Wendy noticed the portrait to the right of the eyeball lichen patch. And suddenly, standing there batting her eyes didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.

His hair fell black and long down his back in picturesque cascades. Standing with seemingly careless grace, he allowed one winter star eye to regard the viewer in his three-quarters profile. The paleness of his skin caught the moonlight, luminous and beautiful. In his elegant hands, he held a ball of light spinning its threads, close enough to kiss its iridescent strands. Ah no...those strands were _coming_ from his lips, and he was deftly forming them into the ball of light. His lips formed a smile that was lovely and wicked and more than a little cruel.

"Winterkiss, of course," murmured Wendy appreciatively. "How fitting. And quite striking."

Both winter star eyes suddenly turned to fix on her, and the smile blossomed with amusement and pleasure. "I'm quite glad you approve," said the satin voice dryly. "I stay up nights absolutely pining for your approval."

For a moment, Wendy forgot to breathe, gazing at those eyes. And those eyes, cold and predatory and very, very interested, gazed back at her.

She remained frozen for some moments, staring up at the dark, looming figure of the Jack. Her resemblance to a deer in sight of the hunter did not escape the corner of her mind that was still able to notice such things. That part had a private chuckle while the rest of her mind told it quite firmly to shut up.

The Jack's laughter fell like silver coins as he reached down from the picture frame in a gentlemanly gesture of invite. "Come."

Wendy's mouth was dry, too dry. She did not take the gloved hand in front of her.

His lips curled gently. "Come, come, Storyteller- don't you know proper form?"

Wendy found her voice, dry and small though it was. "Why did you say that?"

"Well, proper form is something I expect you to be acquainted with." Laughter danced behind his words.

"No - those words...that comment, the one that I said to Beth...how did you know _those wor-_" She flushed and stopped, suddenly aware that he was toying with her. This uneven state of affairs made her rather irritated, and she narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a profoundly withering glance.

He darted forward suddenly, sweeping both her hands into his. Winter star eyes were level with hers, and she forgot, for a moment, everything she was irritated about.

"How did I know those words?" he asked softly, drawing close. His lips brushed just below her right ear. "This is your dream at the moment, Storyteller. I know many things here."

And he withdrew, an amused smile stealing across his lips.

It took several moments for Wendy to gather any semblance of composure since his eyes, chilling and keenly observant, remained firmly locked on hers. "My dream, is it?" she countered weakly. "How delightful."

"I agree," he replied fluidly, "you have a gift for creation." He pulled her gently forward, towards him. "Come - I can tell you more, if you like."

Information freely given was a tantalizing lure, but Wendy was forcibly reminded of her dealings with Ermenth. There was something that needed careful thought here.

She shuddered as the Jack's hold slid around her wrists and tightened. Her thoughts scattered, attempted to reformulate, and failed. He had to be able to feel her hammering pulse, had to hear her rapid breaths.

And he was probably laughing about it.

Sufficiently vexed, Wendy threw caution aside and answered with only a slight quaver in her voice, "I accept your offer, sir."

"Good," he replied, satisfaction smooth as silk. "Now come with me."

His gloved hands pulled her forward, and into the portrait frame with him. The thrill of his proximity was suddenly overwhelmed by a swirling vertigo that rode her vision and sucked out her breath. It was dark, and cold...so cold. She collapsed against him, panic clawing at her throat as she attempted to breath and couldn't. Her hands scrambled for purchase, anything to stop this suffocating descent into the black emptiness.

_A trick...I've been fooled, _she thought, _and now I'm done for._

His hands moved up around her arms, holding her firmly, almost protectively._ Trust me, darling._

_Right, _she thought back weakly, _because that's turned out to be such a brilliant plan so far._

And then she very promptly passed out to the echoes of his soft laughter.

* * *

Her eyes opened in a room made of marble and gold. The eyeball lichen glowed softly in shades of lavender, giving a delicate sheen to the rich mosaic on the expansive floor in front of her. She realized she was looking down on it from a dais of some sort, and curled comfortably into something soft as snowflakes. She drowsily wondered how snowflakes could feel so warm.

Then, the snowflakes exhaled, and Wendy bolted up with a furious blush of realization.

She stumbled off the dais where he was and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly for several moments and pointedly refused to look up. After a few more moments, she coughed and spoke softly. "Well, this confirms it - your shirt is, in fact, softer than it looks."

He laughed gently, but she felt the cold smile drifting through it. "I'm rather fond of it myself."

"Why did you do that?" she asked, addressing her question quite forcibly to his boots.

"Do what?"

He was toying with her again, and vexation stirred her gaze upwards. "I'm not accustomed to waking up in such positions."

He countered effortlessly. "Are you accustomed to falling into dead faints, then?"

She snapped her gaze to his eyes, consternation leaching the heat from her. "No," she said softly.

Amusement glittered through his eyes, but his voice remained cool and even. "Then I suggest you provide explicit instructions for the future. As it was, I had to improvise."

The look Wendy gave him was not a very nice one. "Why did you take me through that...whatever it was?"

He regarded her for a moment before replying. "It is the only way to get from place to place in the castle."

"But what _is_ that, in the portrait?"

His face became inscrutable. "Nothing."

Wendy's eyes flared with temper. "That most certainly was _not_ nothing."

He rose suddenly and strode down the steps of the dais towards her, his voice low and precise. "Oh yes it was - that's _exactly_ what it was." He was in front of her, looking down from inches away. "_Nothing_. No form, no shape, no life."

Wendy looked up at him, drinking in winter star eyes, temper dissipating. The part of her that noticed such things was beginning to become embarrassed by this reaction.

He continued, words sliding down her skin like fur. "There are many parts of Perhaps full of that ... emptiness."

Reason suddenly pierced the pleasurable haze of her mind, grounded her. "So how did you stay conscious in that portrait, waiting for me?"

He smiled again, wryly. "I am skilled at remaining conscious in such states."

Silence curled after his words.

Wendy stepped closer, looking squarely up at him. "Where do you come from, Jack?"

He tilted his head, amused again. "Only you would know here, Wendy."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes, Storyteller, it is."

Wendy felt a fine thrill of fear run through her, mingled with curiosity and frustration. "Is there anything you can actually tell me in a straightforward fashion?"

"Of course there are things I can tell you in such a way."

Wendy waited for a moment before the phrasing registered. She sighed. "Alright - is there anything you _will_ actually tell me in a straightforward fashion? Preferably now?"

"Certainly," he replied, laughing gently with approval. "But I first wish to discuss how busy you've been impressing some of my subjects." He extended his hand to her, courteous once more. "Come - walk with me."

She paused, staring at the gloved hand before her. Then, giving herself a good mental shake, she took his hand. A delicious chill stole through her as she felt the fine leather slide across her skin.

They walked to one edge of the throne room, stopping at a niche with a portrait framed elegantly in gold and black. The gwyndilon in it was painted in startling detail.

Wendy recognized it at once. "Ermenth."

"Yes - few pass the gwyndilons with their blessing. Very clever of you. " Pleasure and approval thrummed along the undertones of his voice.

Wendy looked at him, her voice careful as she locked onto those winter star eyes. "I had your help, of course. Your suggestions of what to do. And again when controlling Bren and Snerr. Why did you help me, Jack?"

He tilted his head to the side, contemplative at her directness. "It seemed ungentlemanly to leave you in such states of distress."

"You could have simply come to me yourself. You control them all, don't you?"

"Do I?" he asked, with a secretive smile.

Wendy arched an eyebrow. "I would assume so, at least to some extent. So," she continued, "why help me but not come to me yourself to steer me away from such terrible dangers?"

He looked at her for a very long moment. "You interest me."

Wendy's pulse sped again, as her brain raced to catch up with the possibilities of this answer. "So what then? You wanted to test me, see how I performed?"

His smile was a sly thing indeed. "Perhaps." He turned away from the portrait suddenly. "Come - let me show you the realm as you have it."

Wendy's eyebrows shot up in surprise and distraction. "As I have it?"

"I have formed it as you have told it. But there are parts which could do with a bit more detail."

She stopped suddenly, looking at him. "Why listen to me?"

He smiled. "Because you have the gift of Storytelling. And it is, as you have said, a prized possession in this place." He swept her hand up in his and brushed his lips lightly across it, eyes sparkling with cold fire. "A spark of the divine, even."

Wendy jerked her hand away. That brush of lips had done things that the ever-vigilant corner of her mind was already scolding her for. And he knew it, judging by the calculating glance he gave her.

Wendy's face grew quite hot as she turned back to the portrait of Ermenth. Grasping at memories of anything besides the feel of his mouth over her hand, she asked rather suddenly, "How did the gwyndilons know to make their glamour of the particular image that they used on me? It seemed rather tailored to my...preferences."

His eyes became flat as glass, impenetrable, as he watched her. "They take it from your mind, from your memories and desires."

"Ah." Wendy felt another treacherous blush beginning to burn along her cheeks. "And these images appear only to the one they're attempting to draw to them, I suppose."

His smile was small and rather amused. "And to me."

The blush exploded, hot and flustered, through Wendy. "I see. Why to you?"

"Because I am the ruler of Perhaps," he said, with a wry smile. "And you aren't the only one to ally with the gwyndilons, my dear."

Wendy closed her eyes and made a valiant attempt to regain her ever-fleeting composure. "So you know about the image of Peter, then. Where is he these days?"

"On the light side," he replied with a only a touch of ice, "where else?"

Wendy looked at his winter star eyes. "Can he come here?"

Something quite dark slid over his face. "If you wish it."

She looked at him, surprised at the phrasing and the implication. "If _I_ wish it?"

His words were calm and cool as rain. "Yes, Storyteller - if you wish it."

She regarded him for a moment. "I seem to have a lot of sway here."

"It's your dream of your Story after all, now isn't it?"

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. She looked again at his winter star eyes and spoke softly. "And the Captain? What of him?"

The darkness touched his eyes this time, and his lips quirked up with something unreadable. "What of him, Wendy? The crocodile has taken her tribute, as you have said."

She took a deep breath, still held by his gaze. "Did you know him?"

"You might say that."

A small, dry laugh escaped Wendy at his verbal block. "Of course. And what else might I say?"

He laughed softly, vanilla smooth. "Many things, my darling - many things."

She persisted. "Some of which might be?"

"Things I wish to keep to myself for the time being." His smile became small and sly. "Especially if your Peter is going to be visiting."

"He's _not_ my Peter." Her voice was sharp, more defensive that she had intended.

The Jack's eyes were keen with interest, his smile far lighter than before. "I see."

Heavy silence remained as he offered his hand once more. With a small sigh, she took it.

Together, they walked to a portrait that seemed made of green darkness in an ebony frame. As Wendy looked more closely, she suddenly perceived flashing emerald eyes within the black. The forms were indistinct, however; only the impression of sharp, lithe angles emerged. But the intensity of the multi-faceted emerald stare caused Wendy's skin to prickle.

An agile whisper curled in the back of her mind, low as a forest breeze, but distinct. _We wait for you, Storyteller._

Wendy's eyes widened, and she became very, very still next to the Jack.

"I wouldn't pay them too much mind," he said. "They like to tease."

She looked at him sharply. "You heard them, too?"

Amusement touched the corners of his eyes. "I know them well enough to surmise. Come, let's continue."

And so they walked to the next of the series. This one was a shimmering blue murkiness surrounded by a white-silver frame of some iridescent metal. Again, as Wendy looked at the portrait, more details emerged, as if rising from beneath water - a haughty stare flashing, the outline of silvery skin and well-muscled tail. This was a mermaid, just like those Wendy had discovered before in Never Land - not the friendly frolicking creatures of children's stories, but the ruthless sirens and vicious hunters of stories far older. Dangerous, alien beauty.

Wendy shivered at the memory of the one who had tried before to pull her under the sea to drown. If anything, the mermaid in this portrait had an even crueler set to her smile, an even more guarded expression in her eyes. Something in the mermaid reminded Wendy strongly of the Jack, though she couldn't precisely say what.

She felt the Jack's eyes on her as she regarded this latest portrait. "Who is she?"

"Someone of long acquaintance," he said simply. There was a profound starkness to the reply, which gave Wendy pause. But before she could ask for elaboration, they had moved towards another portrait - this one a delicate sea-green frame surrounding a picture of a hallway that was filled with soft violet glow of the eyeball lichen.

Unlike the other portraits, they moved closer and closer to this one. At last, the Jack traced his gloved fingers along the surface, which shimmered and glistened.

Wendy realized his intent quite abruptly, and jerked her hand from his. "Oh no - I'm not going through that..._nothing_...again."

"It's really much easier if you trust me." His words were velvet soft, a chord of persuasion running through them. Unspoken was the addendum, _And yourself._

Wendy was not persuaded. "And why would my trust matter?"

The Jack was unperturbed. "Because this is your dream of Perhaps."

The look behind Wendy's eyes was not amused. "That's not an answer."

"Yes," he said simply, "it is."

"Well, it's not a _satisfactory_ answer."

"Ah," he said smiling a little, "but I never claimed it was, did I?"

She eyed him, and felt the half-truths swirling between them. "Well, I don't trust you." She stood back and crossed her arms, feeling decidedly vexed. "And I refuse to faint on you again."

He turned back to her, his eyes twinkling. "Then we are at an impasse."

She inclined her head, voice neutral. "I'm afraid so. What do you propose?"

"That we continue your tour at another time."

"And how will that improve the traveling arrangements?"

He moved into Wendy, deftly smoothing her crossed arms down. "Because you will create stories about this portrait travel, how to travel within the castle and within the kingdom." His voice thrummed with magnetic force. "And then it will no longer be nothing."

Wendy was very aware of his hands as they rested on her arms. She swallowed, heart racing, not looking up. There was certainly a trick here, there had to be - Jacks did not work without tricks in Stories.

But whatever this trick was, she couldn't find it. She considered the proposal. It really wouldn't be so troubling to come up with a method of portrait travel without such unpleasant side effects...

She swallowed again. "That sounds quite...acceptable."

He gently tilted her chin up to look at him. "Then you agree."

Her pulse skittered beneath his gloved fingers. "Yes, I agree to create stories of portrait travel for you."

He laughed, delight sparkling through him. "So pacted." He cradled her face with his other hand. "And now you must go back to your world, Storyteller." As he spoke, a glowing ball of faerie light formed in his hand. Eyes intently upon her, he brought it between their faces and gently blew it to her, soft as a kiss. It touched her, and with it came a sudden lightness filling her limbs, making her skin feel tight - as if it would split easily and pleasantly to let her fly free on the rush of the...the _something_ that flowed through her. The sensuous shock of the sensation made her gasp.

The Reddon-sanctioned portion of her mind was decidedly disapproving. Unfortunately for it, Wendy didn't rightly care.

The Jack's eyes became brilliant as she continued to look at them, like the dazzle of sun against snow. She felt them draw her in and down, consciousness slipping silkily away from her. As she fell forward, she dimly sensed herself being held against him, the snowflake soft material of his shirt whispering against her skin. Winter star eyes blazed through her mind's eye as her body curled into him, feeling cool and safe.

_Blast, _she thought irritably, embarrassed beyond recourse._ I distinctly did not_ _want to faint on you again._

_Quite alright_, came the amused reply. _Come see me again sometime._

* * *

Footnotes:

1 "_Keep them off-balance and they'll never see you coming." _Quote stolen shamelessly from _The Devil's Advocate_.


	5. Four: Of Pacts

Chapter Four - Of Pacts

Phantom snowflakes swept across the hollow of her throat and Wendy gasped awake, her heart pounding, her body too hot in the bed. Sweat beaded on her forehead and against the back of her neck. Her thoughts were fuzzy, dream fragments melting away in the light. She shivered suddenly, half-remembering laughter like silver coins, the brush of supple leather against her skin, a glowing ball of faerie light...

She gave herself a firm mental shake and the world crystallized. It was Sunday.

Yes, that was right - Sunday. At Reddon School. Where she was.

The disconnection she felt stubbornly persisted in the wake of these thoughts.

She took a few more moments to try to ground herself in the idea of being at Reddon School. Details would help. She started with the knowledge that it was Sunday. So, what did that mean?

Sunday was a free day at Reddon School.

Alright - so what did _that_ mean?

She thought about it for a moment more and came up with the knowledge that, on a Sunday, the other girls would be in the garden, amusing themselves in Reddon-approved manners until...

Ah, yes - there it was. Until was time for their story. Or more truthfully, until their storyteller made an appearance.

Sunlight danced merrily through the room - apparently, it was fairly late in the morning already. Wendy dressed and then swept by the kitchen, deftly thieving some cheese and freshly-baked bread. Apples she could get from the trees in the garden.

The garden was warm and lovely as a picture, the sunlight streaming through in gold and rose and orange against the leaves. The dark branches of the trees sported several lazily perched girls.

Beth noticed Wendy's approach. "Girls, come down and gather! Our Storyteller has come, after taking a generous rest from her tale."

Wendy laughed. "Generous, hmmm? It can't be much later than ten."

"And is ten a reasonable time for industrious young ladies to be making their first appearances?" teased Rachel.

"Not particularly," replied Wendy. "Conveniently, however, I am not an industrious young lady."

"But you _are _a rollicking good storyteller," said Beth congenially. "Now, on with your tale, madame!"

Wendy's lips quirked up at the command. "I'll take your eagerness as a compliment. Now, where were we, my dears? In the realm of Perhaps, was it?"

"Yes, yes!" came the chorus of cries.

"With dark secrets!"

"And killing words!"

"And the Jack!"

"Oh yes, Jack Winterkiss!"

"And how he hates your Peter Pan!"

"He's _not_ my Peter," corrected Wendy softly.

Beth heard this and grinned at Wendy. "Isn't he, now? I think there's quite a bit more story to be telling us, Wendy Moira Angela Darling."

Wendy grinned back, as she climbed up the nearby apple tree and arranged herself comfortably within reach of several apples should members of the audience below require reminders to be quiet. "You're not wrong, Elizabeth Gwendolyn Leigh Perrigrew. So now, where shall we begin?" She leaned back, looking up at the sky. "Hmm...I think with the castle of the Jack. Yes, that will do." She spread her hands wide, tracing lines deftly in the air. "It's quite a magnificent place, of course, behind the Black Castle. Constantly shifting and changing to match the desires of its ruler. The throne room is immense, meant to inspire a sensible amount of awe to the casual observer - very useful for negotiations. White marble columns veined with gold generally line a path to the throne, which is often set upon a dais that looks out majestically on the shimmering expanse below. An exquisitely detailed mosaic made of precious stones can occasionally be found on the floor of this room, forming images of sections of Perhaps near and dear to the Jack's heart."

"What's his favorite one, then?" asked Sarah.

"A scene of the courtyard," replied Wendy, after a moment's thought, "with lacy branches and a crumbling wall that looks out into the distant green and gold jungle of Neverland."

"Obsessed with his freedom, is he?" remarked Beth.

"Indeed he is," agreed Wendy. "Forever and always." She was silent a moment, looking out across the garden. Then she took a deep breath and turned her eyes back to the girls. "Other images in the mosaic include the haunts of the mermaids, the dance halls of the fae, and the labyrinthine twists of the courtyards outside the castle. One or two visitors to the throne room have sworn that secret passages to other rooms of the castle can be found in the mosaics - but their wild tales have largely been ignored. It has long been established that the only way to travel through the castle is through the portraits - and the Jack controls the portraits. So you will never arrive anywhere other than where he wants you to be."

"Most convenient, really, though a bit taxing on his attention, I imagine," observed Beth. "Or don't many people use these portraits at once?"

Wendy's eyes gleamed with hidden amusement. "Access to any part of the castle besides the throne room is rather restricted."

"Of course - you can't just have anyone wandering into your secrets," remarked Lexie matter-of-factly. "So how exactly is it that these portraits work?"

Wendy smiled and leaned back into her perch, staring out across the garden. "Well, it happened like this: Newly come to his kingdom, the Jack immediately realized that its shifting nature made travel...oh, how shall we put this?"

"A pain in the arse approaching regal status?" chimed Beth. "Ouch!" she continued, failing to dodge an apple hurled from her right.

"Yes, " said Wendy, blithely ignoring the continuing apple projectiles and their dancing target. "Decidedly inconvenient, to put it in milder terms. So the Jack surveyed his new subjects and schemed well and soon negotiated a pact with the mermaids. Their travel through water, you see, had similarities to how he envisioned travel through the realm could proceed - a sort of swimming through the currents of space. The mermaids had their doubts, of course, as they failed to see the similarity between water and geographical reality."

"They're not the only ones," grumbled Lexie.

"However," said Wendy, "the Jack said he merely required a small kiss of their magic and he would work out the rest."

"A _kiss_ of their magic?" echoed Sarah, clearly intrigued by the prospect.

Wendy laughed softly. "Yes, exactly - magic to be bestowed by a single kiss from each mermaid to the Jack. And while the mermaids were distinctly pleased by this potential set of arrangements (since our Jack is, of course, quite pleasing to the eyes)-"

"Indeed!" said Sarah, with a hint of jealousy. "Lucky things."

"Perhaps lucky, but perhaps not," replied Wendy. "Because some of the mermaids feared what this sharing of power would mean. With their power that much lessened and within the Jack's control, would they themselves also be more subject to his force of will? This was not an attractive prospect, no matter how pleasant the Jack's kiss. So they decided to ensure their independence by requiring in return one silver tear from the Jack to be worn around the neck of each mermaid who kissed away some of her magic."

"And this would help them how exactly?" queried Rachel skeptically. "What's a silver tear to them, but something ornamental?"

"The tears," replied Wendy, unperturbed, "by their very nature would carry within them a small touch of the Jack's own magic, culled from his essence. In this way, the mermaids would lay claim to some of his own power in return for the portion of theirs they would give to him. And all would be balanced."

"Well, I suppose that might do," said Beth, thoughtfully. "But where was he supposed to get silver tears from exactly? Bit of a specialty item, that."

Wendy smiled as she continued. "The mermaids were quite aware of a peculiar quality of the Jack's - and that quality is this: When sufficiently moved, the ice fire of his eyes melts just enough so that the liquid which drops from them is of the purest silver."

"Weeping out liquids with strange properties - you _do_ like to keep your villain characteristics consistent, don't you?" remarked Beth, pre-emptively ducking the ensuing apple onslaught.

Wendy smiled, eyebrows quirked in amusement. "Indeed I do. So meanwhile, the pact between the mermaids and the Jack was sealed and all that was required was something sufficiently moving to cause the Jack to weep. Fortunately, this was not terribly long in coming. The cause was the theft of part of his memory. It was a blessing in disguise, truth be told - a burden lifted. Something awful that he had been carrying around since his arrival to Perhaps." Wendy fell silent suddenly.

"Well, what was it?" asked Lexie, after some moments. "And who stole it?"

"As to what it was," replied Wendy contemplatively, "no one is quite sure, though many who give thought to his origin have their suspicions. However, the clever thief was a very enterprising pixie by the name of Tinkerbell."

"Oh, her! Full of mischief, that one is," remarked Beth.

Wendy smiled. "Yes, well, she thought it might make a good centerpiece for a danse macabre - a rather grotesque affair, really - that the faeries were holding one night. So, after some extraordinarily deft maneuvering, she lifted it while he was sleeping. A vile thing it was, too, and so full of bile that the faeries decided it was too nasty a specimen to display even at their dark festival. The Jack, meanwhile, was so relieved to be rid of it, that Tink hadn't the heart to return it immediately."

"So she kept it?" asked Lexie, with some wrinkling of her nose.

"No," said Wendy, "she tossed it into the sea, where a certain tick-tocking crocodile snapped it up."

This was met by a collective grimace of disgust.

"I imagine it gave him indigestion," remarked Rachel dryly.

Wendy pondered this for a moment. "Yes, well - crocodiles have strong stomachs."

"And a good thing, too," said Beth, "Regurgitated bitter memory doesn't sound pleasant at all."

Groans and apples made their way from the back of the audience.

"But now the Jack is missing part of his memory," said Lexie. "Surely this isn't good."

"It all depends on the memory, doesn't it?" replied Beth smartly. "That one sounds like it's best left lost...or digested, as the case may be."

"But no one really knows what the memory was," reminded Lexie. "It could be important."

"True," conceded Beth. She turned her attention back to Wendy, who had been enjoying their debate. "So no one really, truly knows?"

Wendy's voice became quiet, introspective. "No one knows for sure, but the goblins whisper of a hatred so black and bitter that even the crocodile eventually coughed it back up."

There was considerable silence as the audience pondered this.

"I think I speak for everyone here," said Beth finally, "when I say 'Ugh!' "

Murmurs of agreement followed.

Rachel pressed on, "So did the goblins know what it was that the Jack hated so?"

Wendy smiled mischievously. "That is the Jack's secret."

"Still?" asked Rachel, her brow furrowed. "I thought you said he'd lost the memory."

"Oh yes," replied Wendy, in a silky sort of voice, "but not knowledge of what that memory was. Just the memory itself, with its tempestuous, poisonous emotions."

"So," said Beth airily, "our Jack is now a cooler man."

Wendy inclined her head, her smile warming. "As cold as winter."

"Hence his name," said Lexie. "Ack!" Lexie was not as agile as Beth at dodging apples.

"Yes," agreed Wendy softly, "hence his name."

A wave of yelping and scrambling suddenly went through the girls, and Wendy saw the thin figure of Pintzer stalking through the crowd.

All was very, very silent as Pintzer looked haughtily up her nose at Wendy. (This was quite a feat, really, since one usually looks down one's nose at someone - but Pintzer had had long years of practice.)

Pintzer's words were clipped pinpricks of irritation. "Miss Darling! What exactly do you think you are doing up in that tree? Imitating a squirrel?"

Wendy stared coolly down at Pintzer for a moment before her expression transposed itself into the picture of smiling sweetness. "No one is so skilled as you at scurrying about on the hunt for meaningless trifles, Ms. Pintzer. I'm afraid I could never compete."

Fury exploded in Pintzer, nearly blinding her. Her body was rigid, her fingers convulsing around the riding crop she had been carrying on her way to the stables. Blazing with vengeance, she strode to the tree and pulled Wendy sharply to the ground with one motion. Unthinking, she let loose one strike of the riding crop against the girl's back. Then another. And another. The blows continued to come, harder and faster.

The girls were frozen in shock, and watched as though statues.

Towering above the prone figure of Wendy, Pintzer continued to rain blows down. A rough edge of the riding crop broke the skin, and Wendy began to bleed.

With a vicious kick, Pintzer flipped Wendy over. Wendy's eyes were closed against the pain, but Pintzer continued to strike. And strike.

_Beg me to stop, little wretch. And perhaps I will. Perhaps_.

Wendy opened her eyes and caught Pintzer's gaze. Her eyes blazed cold, and colder.

Sudden visions sliced through Pintzer's mind: There were eyes blazing, icy eyes full of a black rage all around - and horror! Oh, a horror of branches and tentacles and teeth! It was menace incarnate, menace in emerald eyes, predatory menace, closing in, ready to strip flesh from bone. And through it, she would be aware, terrifyingly conscious as her ribs were cracked and her heart was ripped still beating from her chest, unable to escape into sweet oblivion, no, not for her who dared to interfere...

Pintzer, frozen for some moments in horrid thrall, suddenly gasped and staggered back. Stricken, heart pounding and vision blurry, she turned away and fled in the direction of Reddon House.

Wendy's head slipped back to the ground, eyes closed.

The girls stared at her in finely blazed horror.

Beth recovered first, and knelt by the pale form of Wendy. She embraced her gently, whispering, "She's gone, Wendy love. She's gone. Come back to us now."

Lexie was crying softly. "Oh, Wendy Wendy - why must you say such things? They're delicious taunts, but you keep paying for them."

Still cradling Wendy, Beth said gently, "Timing, my dear - it's all in the timing."

With a shuddering sigh, Wendy opened her eyes. "Indeed." Her smile was watery, but there. "I really must work on my timing." And then she slid into unconsciousness.

* * *

Wendy awoke in her bed, feverish and sweating. Her head was throbbing, a dizzying threat of nausea, and her throat ached horribly. She groped in the direction of the nightstand, hoping for a small miracle in the form of a glass of water. _Aha, victory_, she thought as her hand closed gratefully around the glass.

When she shifted to prop herself up, however, she jerked at the pain that roiled through her muscles and its accompanying wave of nausea. The glass, sadly, lost the majority of its precious liquid in the upset. She glared at the offending thing in sickened frustration, half-heartedly muttering a rather nasty remark about its ancestry before tipping it back to drink the remaining water.

Her invective had not gone unnoticed. Beth's voice winged through the darkness, "Hush, girls! She's conscious enough to be creative. She's obviously feeling better."

Wendy smiled to herself as she listened to Beth's footsteps clattering in the darkness. Beth's form soon appeared, and leaned proprietarily over Wendy. "So, my dear," she said, "how are you feeling?"

Wendy coughed, and the sudden movement of her head caused her eyes to water with pain. "As if I'd just had an extended run-in with the wrong end of a riding crop, and had possibly then swallowed the entire Sahara."

"Well, that's all right then," replied Beth, matter-of-factly, "considering you have. Except for the part about the Sahara."

Wendy smiled, closing her eyes. "That would do it, then. How long was I out, anyway?"

"Over a day and a half," said Beth. "We were worried about you, love. Gave us a right scare, you did."

"Well, fear not, my dears," replied Wendy amiably. "As I've said before, it takes more than egregious amounts of pain to do me in."

Beth snorted. "Yes, well, Pintzer certainly decided to see if she could try it, anyway."

Wendy's mouth compressed with a sharp loathing. "Where _is_ that thrice-cursed, miserable excuse for a woman?"

"Made herself scarce, she has," said Lexie, with disgust. "And she won't be reprimanded, either - Reddon's too daft to notice."

"But we've given her merry hell for you in the meantime," said Beth consolingly.

Wendy laughed softly, despite the accompanying wave of dizziness. "Oh? Do tell."

"Well, you see," said Rachel conversationally, "itching powder is really such an underrated commodity. And Pintzer's knickers were just crying for a dose."

"And then there was the sad confusion of sugar and salt in her tea," said Lexie, eyes wide. "Terrible, just terrible."

"Indeed," said Beth, nodding sagely. "And a new shoe shine consisting of three parts manure and one part tar does wonders for starting conversations. Just the thing for Pintzer, you know - always a bit too uptight in social situations, anyway."

Wendy smiled wickedly. "Do you know that I just adore you all?"

Beth's own smile widened as she tucked some of the wayward bedclothes in. "We know, dear. You're our inspiration, after all." She patted Wendy's shoulder gently. "Now you get some rest so you can tell us your lovely stories again."

Wendy sighed and closed her eyes as she curled under the blankets. "Yes, Madame Perrigrew."

"Good," said Beth warmly. "I, for one, don't want mediocre stories resulting from inadequate recovery time."

Wendy cocked an eye open to a world blurry and tilting, and then closed it again. "So good to know you care, Bethie."

"Of course, love." Beth gave her a jaunty kiss on the forehead. "All right, everyone - say your farewells and let's leave our Wendy to get some well-deserved rest."

The remaining girls surged forward to give hugs and warm wishes before slipping out of the room.

Though comforted by their warm affection, Wendy was nonetheless grateful when the room was quiet once more. This puzzled her briefly, as she usually wrapped herself in the girls' love as if it were a favorite blanket. But tonight, the energy of them was oddly discordant - as if her entire mind were out of harmony with the normal ebb and flow of the ordinary world and its ordinary touches, which seemed to include the girls.

_But then_, said a very snide mental voice, _where precisely is your mind_?

Though she tried valiantly to give that question proper consideration, her thoughts whirled as if caught on a phantom storm, almost as if they were spiraling down.

Wendy had a sudden, vertiginous sense of falling out of her own skin. She swallowed suddenly at the shuddering wave of nausea, at the surging pound behind her eyes. _Oh please, someone take me away from all this...what I would give to have someone just come and take me away..._

_And what exactly, _came a sinuous velvety whisper, _would you give?_

Without thinking, she replied, _Anything._

_That, _said the voice smoothly, _will be quite acceptable. So pacted._

Suddenly, phantom snowflakes danced across her cheek, a whisper of winter against her skin. The wicked throb behind her eyes quieted beneath the icy press, and she seemed to float, disconnected from the fierce nausea and thready pain. And as she floated, she realized that the energy here flowed across her skin like silk, pooling and settling in precisely the comforting manner that the girls' energy hadn't.

This was disturbing enough to drag her mind temporarily out of its spiraling descent.

Laughter like silver coins drifted through her now focused thoughts, and it was very, very pleased.

Her heart tried to hammer in her chest, to force the shock into her blood, to register the panic. But her body had been lulled into sweet coolness, and could not be bothered.

She had invited him this time, given him complete sanction with her rash words.

After an introspective moment, she realized she didn't rightly care. This frightened her, but only abstractly. The disconnection from her body was allowing her mind to wander freely down again, sliding through thoughts like quicksilver, holding onto nothing.

She considered what the anything she promised him would turn out to be, and wondered vaguely if she would miss it.

Winter star eyes flashed before her with that familiar wicked smile. Distantly she felt strong arms lifting her body, wrapping a cloak around her, and carrying her away. It felt just like flying, come to think of it.

_And this doesn't even require fairy dust, _she thought insouciantly.

His voice caressed the loose edges of her mind. _There are more ways to fly than fairy dust, Storyteller._

_Apparently_, she replied, distinctly not caring. _Whose Storytelling made this possible?_

His laughter rippled with amusement. _Yours, of course._

She had no reply to that. It should have been obvious that this was somehow her doing. What wasn't obvious was exactly how the Jack had managed to stretch her words into this dazzling link between two worlds.

But then, cleverness was the Jack's specialty. _Clever, clever Jack..._

And that was as far as the graceful loop of her thoughts got before they slipped into drowsy half-sleep. She distantly felt the cool press of his shirt against her cheek as they flew, and the protective curl of his arms around her. His heart beat a steady, lulling rhythm, rather like a clock.

The back part of her mind which noticed such things primly commented that she was remarkably unbothered by this state of affairs.

Before she lost consciousness altogether, she irritably told it where it could stick its prim commentary.


	6. Five: The Heart of the Night Side

Chapter 5 - The Heart of the Night Side

Wendy awoke in a very comfortable bed that was not her own. The Jack sat picturesquely across from her in a dark purple velvet armchair, midnight hair clasped behind him, elegant ballroom regalia gleaming in the candlelight.

She was fully aware that she was focused on his clothing so that she didn't have to meet the winter star gaze that was leveled at her.

He smiled suddenly, with just a touch of fire.

A jolt tore through Wendy, as half-remembered feelings and sensations fluttered through her. Snide mental commentary accompanied the memories.

The Jack's smile widened and his eyes flashed with merriment, as if he, too, could hear those biting remarks. "So, my dear Storyteller, I really must tell you how fond the mermaids are of their new jewelry."

"Ah," said Wendy, her mouth very dry. After a few more breathless moments, she licked her lips and added, "Good."

"You should see it," he continued conversationally. "Each one has found a way to adorn that tear until it's as unique as the mermaid who wears it."

Wendy made a noise perilously close to a snort, her nerves forgotten temporarily. "Not surprising - I don't think they could bear wearing the same thing, no matter how precious."

The Jack laughed at her blunt assessment. "Indeed, no - no matter how...precious."

A blush burst through Wendy. "I've heard it's a rare commodity."

His eyebrows quirked with amusement. "That it is." He leaned back, stretching luxuriously against the purple velvet. "But you should come see the mermaids for yourself - it's quite a sight. They're at the ball now, in fact."

Wendy's eyes widened. "Ball?"

"Yes," he replied, voice silky smooth, "ball."

Her eyes remained quite wide.

He continued, unperturbed. "With musicians and dancing."

Her expression remained unchanged, except for a very controlled blink.

"And guests making sniping remarks as they try to vie for favor with me."

Her eyebrows lifted noticeably.

"Intrigues and courtly plots and viperous words."

Wendy blinked again.

"Perhaps even a good fight to the death." He whispered conspiratorially, "And that's just the mermaids."

Wendy blinked once more, then spoke. "You should have stopped at the dancing part."

His smile was warmer now as he cushioned his hands behind his head. "Yes, well - I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be bored. The part after the dancing was really just wishful thinking."

Wendy let a giggle escape before she could stop herself. She was suddenly very aware who she was giggling at. "Why are you being so..." she trailed off, thoughtful.

He leaned towards her, winter star eyes intent. "How am I being?"

She pondered this with the ever-dwindling part of her mind that wasn't being distracted by his proximity. "Congenial. Friendly. _Amusing_."

His smile warmed further, and his voice filled with that laughter like silver coins. "It's a skill, like any other." He moved closer to her until his mouth was a breath away from hers, and she saw eyes that were filled with something besides ice. "I can play whatever role you like."

Wendy's breath caught, and she looked very hard at her hands on the bedclothes. "How talented of you."

His words danced across her skin, rolling like velvet. "I do try."

She was very still as his gloved hand caressed the line of her cheek, remembering the scent of that supple leather. She trembled suddenly, and closed her eyes. "What do you want?" she asked quietly.

He lifted her chin gently until she was looking at him. "The anything you pacted to me."

Panic sang through her in a violent shudder, and she tensed beneath his touch. _Virtue still alive and well, after all, is it? _chirped the back part of her mind.

The Jack's eyes widened slightly at her assumption. "Not that, Storyteller." His voice was silken as he let her chin tilt back down. "What I want is what you would freely give to me. That is the way things must work here."

"Must?" Her voice was tentative, grasping.

His hand rested gently on her shoulder now. "Yes. Must."

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, muttering, "Well, that's a relief."

She felt his amusement around her like a warm current, but when she looked up, he was merely bowing his head courteously to her.

Irritated, she allowed suspicion born of old humiliations to seize hold of her thoughts. "Why is it that you care enough to soothe me, Jack Winterkiss? What do you want from me? What do you _gain_ from this?"

He drew back, hands spread wide. His face was a blank and congenial mask. "Can't a man simply want a lady in his care to be comfortable?"

She looked at him, unappeased. "A man could, if he were only a man. And if I were, in fact, a lady in his care. But the fact remains that you are no mere man and I am _not_ a lady in your care."

"Aren't you? Surely you don't want to go back to your Reddon House just yet."

She continued to look at him, undistracted. "What do you gain from this?"

He dodged her question gracefully. "Or do you really want to go back to where that brutal Pintzer woman reigns?"

Wendy closed her eyes, remembering all too well her last encounter with Pintzer. At Reddon House, they wanted to form a proper lady out of her - by sharp words, by pretty bland lies, by beatings. Whatever it took to empty the fancifulness from her, to bleed her dry of her stories. Reddon House's end was crystal clear.

The Jack's, however, was most certainly not. Her voice was measured and precise as she asked her question a third time. "What do you gain from this, Jack Winterkiss?"

He blinked slowly, then spoke with a small quirk of a smile. "My happiness, Storyteller."

A simple answer, and one which could conveniently mean any number of things. She appreciated that it was a perfectly fine, useless answer to her query and then let loose a string of choice phrases involving certain anatomical impossibilities.

His lips twitched noticeably at a particularly inventive one involving a rat and a brick. When she had finally exhausted her sputtering ire, he continued cordially, "There's a fine array of attire in the wardrobe for you to choose from. I shall leave the portrait in the hallway ready for you."

He stood gracefully, and turned towards the door.

"I'm in no condition to go to a ball." It sounded grumpy, even to Wendy.

He tilted his head to the side, inquisitive. "Really?"

His insinuation gave her pause, and she stopped concentrating on her irritation long enough to consider if he was right. After a careful sensory inspection, she discovered, quite to her surprise, that he was.

His silver-coin laughter traced along her skin, and she shuddered at the sensations _that_ called up. She managed, nonetheless, to toss him a very thorough glare.

"I shall look forward to your arrival, Storyteller." His eyes were absolutely merry as he glided through the doorway, and was gone.

She stared crossly at the door, before rising out of the bed and walking to the wardrobe. Everything in it, of course, was exactly her size - dresses, corsets, hats, breeches, frock coats, sword belts, vests, boots, scarves...every last piece. _Enchanted castles have their good points, after all. _Wendy laughed softly to herself as she fingered the fabrics, her irritation with the Jack forgotten. Half the clothing was certainly meant to be male, and yet still it was here. Ah, and look over there! There were weapons stacked neatly against the wall in the back, shining and sharp. _Proud enough for even a fierce pirate captain._

The last thought lodged in her mind like a thorn.

_I suppose we don't really need those anymore. Not now._

A wry smile touched her lips. _Perhaps proud enough weapons for the fierce rulers of mysterious shifting realms instead._

Ah yes - that felt much better. But she wasn't going to be needing weapons tonight (she fervently hoped the Jack's tales of fights to the death had merely been wishful thinking, anyway). She was going to need to dance...

Her hands fell against a very simple ivory dress, of rich material and elegant cut. A thrill of chilling anticipation ran through her, as she considered that startling fact that in a very short while, she was going to go to a ball in an enchanted castle to dance with the villain of her very own Story.

She paused, fingering the velvet and satin of the dress thoughtfully. It probably _didn't_ bode well for her virtue to admit quite how much she was enjoying the little thread of fear that accompanied the chilling anticipation. Reddon House would most definitely not approve of this little adventure.

That thought curved her lips into a rather wicked smile that would have done the Jack proud.

Wendy stepped into the dress, and surveyed herself in the mirror of the wardrobe door. She looked decidedly regal in the long swaths of ivory - and as cold as the Jack himself.

She wondered briefly if this was a good thing, and then decided it was better than looking grumpy, which was where her rumpled night gown had left her.

"When heading into unknown parties attended by the denizens of Perhaps," counseled Wendy gravely to her reflection, "untouchable is a much better attitude to assume than disheveled confusion."

Threads of hidden knowledge that she recognized from her last visit to Perhaps thrummed in agreement with this assessment. They had the Jack's stamp on them, of course (though strangely some other half-familiar flavor to them as well). But all that had ceased to bother her some time between her last visit and this one - though the fact that it had ceased to bother her was now, unfortunately, bothering her in an abstract way. But that would pass. She had more pressing concerns.

Such as, unfortunately, the state of her hair. She cursed softly - she had never been any good with hair. Too much of it falling every which way.

_If only this enchanted castle came with invisible servants that would act as a lady's maid. _But no, that wouldn't do - not for this castle. Not for any place in Perhaps. Far better would be a good strong wish...

For a moment, she felt a curious pressure behind her eyes, and then a golden light seemed to color her surroundings for an instant. But it was gone as soon as it had come.

Wendy held her breath for a moment, blinking furiously. After some moments of this, she exhaled and slipped back into her fanciful mindset. Sticking her tongue out at her reflection in the mirror, she declared, "And this is what I wish: I wish by will power alone to have comely locks without effort!"

Something shimmered in the reflection. Wendy's breath caught again. Her immediate (embarrassing) thoughts were of some clever trick of the Jack's.

_It would really be cheating for him to have kept watching all this time. Wouldn't it? And oh, how embarrassing..._

She considered various stages of mortification for a moment, and then saw the shimmer again. And again.

She relaxed slightly and closed her eyes - it wasn't the amused smile of the Jack. (She hadn't put it past him after that business with the castle door.) It was more like a rapid series of photographs. Some quirk of the mirrors in an enchanted castle, perhaps, or -

She looked back at her reflection and suddenly blinked very hard. She looked again. She blinked again. And looked again.

"My," she said finally, thoroughly impressed.

With every flash, her hair was altering slightly, being shaped and molded into something entirely fetching that involved copious strands of pearls. She moved her hand to touch a strand that was curled becomingly down the side of her face, staring at it in bemusement.

The flashing stopped, and her hair was complete.

So _that's_ how the shifting reality of Perhaps worked.

_Only for some_, whispered the back of her mind. _Only for those with the imagination and the will_.

_Conveniently enough, _thought Wendy smartly, _I have that in abundance. And it looks to be more useful in Perhaps than it was in Neverland._

She continued mulling over the implications of this as she hunted for a suitable pair of shoes. Finally, having found an ivory pair that didn't seem intent upon breaking her ankles, she stood up and looked herself over one last time in the mirror. A smile slipped across her lips as she turned towards the door.

_And away we go_.

* * *

The eyeball lichen fluttered and waved in sincere approval of her appearance as she passed. She nodded graciously to the nearest patch, which glowed turquoise briefly with pleasure, and then moved near the only portrait in the hallway. It looked rather like the hallway she was in, actually, though there was a soft light emanating from somewhere off to the right.

"That's probably the direction of the ball, then," she murmured out loud.

The eyeball lichen waggled its agreement.

Wendy continued to look at the portrait, hesitating. She remembered her last trip through the portraits quite well. This time, there would be no arms to catch her if she fell into the empty darkness.

_It's really much easier if you trust me_.

The Jack's previous words came unbidden. It had a sort of logic to it, of course - if she trusted him, then portrait travel worked just as she had told it would. He had pacted her to create it, and she had done so. And so it was.

Or so he had said.

_Well, how else did you get here, hmmm?_

That aggravatingly observant part of her mind did actually have a point. If the Jack had managed to bring her here merely by using what she had told about the portrait travel, surely the portrait travel would work as she had told it. No flat and waiting dark - just "swimming through the currents of geographical reality".

That is, if she believed that her storytelling had enabled him to bring her here and he hadn't been able to just do that already.

But then, wouldn't he have done that the first time, rather than waiting inside a dream?

_Perhaps. But never underestimate the cleverness of a Jack._

She closed her eyes and took a breath. At some point, choices had to be made. She either trusted him to not let her sink into oblivion, or she was going to be standing at this portrait for a very, very long time. With him most likely having a very good (and thoroughly patronizing) chuckle at her expense.

The last thought was what spurred her through. In the end, vexation was really such a wonderful motivator.

* * *

A most curious sensation of floating and being pulled by phantom currents overtook her as she stepped through, and everything seemed to have a blue-green cast for a moment. Then, she was on the other side, and stepping into a hallway that looked much like the one she had left. Except, of course, for the haunting music and chiming laughter drifting from the door to the ballroom off to the right.

She paused for a moment, gathering herself together. The patches of eyeball lichen gave her encouraging rustles. She nodded her thanks to them graciously, and then squared her shoulders, trying desperately to remember what the dance master at Reddon had said about posture. After a few moments of fidgeting and tensing her muscles, she gave up and went for a confident demeanor. With a small stretch of imagination, the mood would translate into a balanced, pleasing state of body.

The room shimmered gold for a moment, and then she was in complete balance. Grace flowed through every muscle, from her neck to her toes. She grinned with pleasure - this manipulation of reality in Perhaps was quite a useful thing.

She wondered suddenly who besides the Jack and herself had such power over the precise nature of Perhaps. Surely the other creatures of Perhaps had it to some extent. He was merely the best of them to be able to do it, not the only one. Wasn't that true?

She paused a little way from the entrance the ballroom, trying to remember. The Jack had come to power through cleverness, but she had never specified the exact nature of his power. Cleverness she had given him in abundance...but cleverness to do what? How clever did one have to be to have imagination of this kind and the strength of will to impose it on Perhaps?

_But perhaps that's why he wants you, _mused the back corner of her mind. _You can do this without thought, as easily as breathing. And storytelling is a prized commodity in this world._

_Outside the world, certainly, _she mused back, _but what effect can my words have once I'm inside the world?_

_Your desires seem to work quite well enough. You obviously have some non-trivial effect. _

She conceded this point, given the state of her hair and her balance, and continued to ponder its implications as she strode into the ballroom. Then, however, she stopped completely.

The hall streamed with harlequin color, gold and black and white. Vast gold veined columns stretched to the distant ceiling that arched above. Ribbons and lace and filigree sconces swam through the room, ice sculptures of strange creatures on pedestals lining the dance floor. The violet glow of eyeball lichen mingled with fountains sparkling in corners, roses climbing the surrounding walls like they were part of some secret garden.

Figures decked in something dark and shining that fit like a second skin flew through the air above on silken ropes, languorous and circling, faces hidden behind masks feathered and molded in shimmering perfection. Their eyes flashed an incandescent green in the light, uncannily familiar. Fire spinners stood on pedestals away from the ice sculptures spinning purple and blue flame, carefully timed to lick the sides of the silk fliers, but never collide.

A statuesque female presence in deep crimson stood at the head of the dance floor, on a raised stage, letting notes of delicate sweetness drift from her dark lips, while the orchestra, with supernatural precision and grace, played a lilting, languorous melody. In the middle of all this splendor, the people danced. Sweeping across the floor with great strolling, sumptuous movements, delighted laughter trailing behind their flying skirts and jackets and half-capes.

The effect was breath-taking.

Wendy, in fact, began to feel a bit weak, until she remembered to inhale.

The music glided seamlessly into a thrumming, more rhythmic tune, with the percussion letting loose a pulsing beat. The dancers broke and reformed, the fire of the dance rippling through their bodies, pulling them along in ecstatic undulation. The great sweeping motions of circling arms alternated with mad, perfectly synchronized rotations of the hips.

Then, amidst the throng, she saw the Jack. Sensual and predatory, he led a woman in purple and green feathers around the ballroom, the mask of some exotically colored bird hiding her face as they swept past the other dancers, near glowing. They sliced through the gyrating throng with movements that, though they never actually touched each other, managed to make Wendy's face feel quite hot. She felt the rumbling beat of the music move through her as she watched them, spellbound.

She was, admittedly, more than a little envious of the woman in purple and green.

But the music changed again, slipping into a waltz of delicate notes and the soaring, ethereal voice of the singer, fast and tripping. The silk fliers, faces hidden behind masks of black feathers and eyes still flashing, settled into a pattern of spiraling circles that matched the three-quarters time to perfection.

No one moved to take the floor, however, as all eyes were now on the Jack.

The Jack's eyes were fixed on his partner as he gave her a courtly bow. Wendy noticed suddenly that the woman had a mermaid's tail beneath her shimmering purple-green dress, and began, absurdly, to puzzle out the mechanics of the mermaid's dancing skills since the Jack obviously had two legs.

The Jack also had two eyes (very striking ice-blue ones, as a certain traitorous part of her mind was so fond of pointing out) and they were hidden artfully behind a white velvet mask with two horns arcing out from the top. The aforementioned blue eyes had, in fact, turned to fix on Wendy.

The steely press of the entire room's gaze helped bring her back out of her thoughts of mermaid dance technique. A leather-clad hand appeared before her. "Would you care to dance?"

She felt the tension in the room rise, as the ballroom waited and watched.

_Don't panic. Play this game. Don't let them see your uncertainty in anything._

Guided by these silent words, Wendy felt her mind slide into the cool, deep stillness where her Let's Pretend had let her go before.

A jaunty smile traced across her lips. "If you don't mind having your feet trodden upon, I gladly accept your offer, sir."

"I accept your terms, as well, my lady," he replied as he moved her into a very close (_and properly balanced!_, she heard the Reddon dance master gleefully chanting) dance position.

As they touched, the ballroom seemed to breathe out. Other dancers began to pair off and take a starting position on the dance floor.

As he swayed her firmly into his arm, he whispered, "It's illusion."

"What?" said Wendy, thoroughly thrown by his sudden comment.

He smiled. "The mermaid. She's split her tail into legs for the evening, but she keeps the image of the tail to remind others of what she is."

Wendy raised her eyebrows. "Clever girl."

His smile grew strangely soft as he slid his fingers down the side of her face for a moment. "Not so clever as some."

Wendy felt herself blush nearly immediately, but strangely bitter words slipped out, a whispered sing-song memory of Peter. "_Oh, the cleverness of me_."

The Jack's smile stilled as he looked down at her, his hand gliding down to settle behind her back. His eyes were glittering bright, searching and almost...pulling. For a moment, Wendy felt the building of the sensation she recalled from her previous visit - that spiraling rush beneath her skin. It was an electric thing, crackling, causing the world to narrow to two brilliant ice-blue points. She swallowed thickly, her fingers tightening around him.

But then, it receded, and she exhaled softly enough to hear his reply.

"Yes," he said, his voice sliding sinuously around her. "Yes, you are."

She blinked suddenly, her bitterness having slipped away. But as she looked up at him, she again felt the pull beginning. She blinked again, hard, and looked pointedly at his mouth, struggling for some other pattern of thoughts to sink into. After a breath, she found one. "How did you know I was wondering about the mermaid's tail?"

She saw the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile. "Your furrowed brow and directed gaze were something of a hint."

"Ah," she murmured as she now directed her gaze over his right shoulder, "fair enough. I must remember to be more discrete about my unabashed staring."

He laughed softly, a touch smugly. "A lesson never too soon to learn, my dear."

She glanced at him, irritation mingling with a bold merriment. "Oh, do stop condescending to me and let's dance this waltz before I'm forced to strike you for being insolent."

His eyes widened in surprise, and his smile was wicked, sensuous. "Bold words, my lady. And a tempting offer."

Wendy felt a truly furious blush of mingled shock and confusion sweep through her. She turned her eyes away from him suddenly, muttering, "Dancing. Dancing would be lovely right about now."

Silver coin laughter slid across her skin, his amusement a warm, touchable thing. "And here I thought we already were."

Before she could compose herself enough to reply, they had begun to move.

Wendy tried very, very hard not to think about what her feet were doing, which was a pleasant distraction from trying very, very hard not to think about her previous exchange with the Jack. In truth, not thinking about her feet was actually a novel experience since the Reddon dance master was always rapping her on the back of her knees with his gold-handled cane when she didn't cross her feet at the appropriate time or when she didn't have her knees facing the same direction and properly bent at the right angle or...well, mostly whenever she was dancing. This had the unfortunate effect of making her exquisitely aware of exactly what her body was doing whenever she had tried to dance previously. The furiously-paced viennese waltz was a particular nightmare - always, she would stumble and trip up whatever poor, beleaguered partner she had.

But strangely, pleasantly, she was not stumbling. And the Jack was most certainly not tripping. In fact, they appeared to be dancing together as easily and as gracefully as if they'd been doing it for years and years. The Reddon dance master would have stood up and applauded at the joy with which they executed the intricate footing. It was like flying, like swooping through the air in three-quarters time.

Lost in the exuberant thrill of the movement, Wendy's thoughts fell silent but for one: _There really are more ways to fly than fairy dust._

* * *

They finished several minutes later as the music drifted into an easy, strolling riff. Her arm through the Jack's, Wendy exited the dance floor in a state of unadulterated delight.

"Your dance master would be quite impressed, I take it," said the Jack congenially.

Wendy blinked, her thoughts drawn regretfully back to her verbal sparring with him. Sighing softly, she glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me my blissful countenance gave _that _away."

His smile was mischievous as he looked back at her. "I won't."

She waited for a moment for him to continue. When he became apparent he wasn't going to, she closed her eyes, took a nice calming breath, and pressed him. "So you were able to divine this riveting piece of information how exactly?"

His expression remained amused as he toyed with a button on his glove. "Through other means."

Another calm breath. "Mmm. Some of which might be?"

His eyes glistened with mirth as he turned his gaze back to her. "Ones I'm very skilled at."

Taking yet another calm breath, Wendy resisted the urge to stomp on his in-step. Her inclination towards violence was being awakened with astonishing rapidity in his presence. "These means wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that particular connection to my thoughts you so enjoy tweaking, would they?"

The Jack ran a gloved hand gracefully through his hair, still smiling with far too much mischief. "They very well might."

She looked at him steadily for a moment, her mind working furiously to figure out a way through his defenses. After another moment, she spoke with a mock-solemn air. "You realize, of course, that it's terribly unfair for you to read my thoughts when I can't voluntarily read yours."

Though his smile remained, his eyes became very carefully blank. "Who told you that you couldn't?"

Wendy stared at him, her mind suddenly whirling. She hadn't really tried, of course - thought-reading just wasn't a standard skill in the normal scheme of the world.

But of course, this wasn't the same world at all, now was it?

_And think what sorts of things one could learn if one had such a power_...It couldn't be very deep thoughts, since those would be too complex and unstructured to fathom outside the mind that created them. But a sort of surface layer of thought would be comprehensible, a communication easily picked up if it was projected. Richer than simple telepathic communication, a sense of emotional presence-

She gave a mental snort. For instance, if one was having a strong emotional response of, say, vindication regarding one's barb-tongued dance master, _that_ might well be picked up without too much trouble. Strong emotions, precise targets - these things would be easily communicated and understood. Yes, that would work quite well in Perhaps... especially if the one sending the thoughts had a connection to the receiver already, or an extraordinary focus of will...

She felt a warmth pulse through her, and a shot of gold colored her surroundings for an instant in a brilliant shimmer. At the same moment, she had a startling vision of woody tendrils and flashing emerald eyes watching her, approving of her actions.

She realized suddenly what she had just done. (It was quite convenient, really, that the manipulations of reality in Perhaps seemed to be marked by this gold shimmering.) She smiled with a touch of triumph, despite the nervous fluttering of her pulse.

_Well, that was easy enough_.

The Jack's eyebrow arched in amusement at her unspoken assessment and the startled satisfaction accompanying it. But then his face became serious, and his thoughts crystal clear.

_I have given you a weapon, Storyteller, a means of information and power. Consider it well - because nothing comes without price here._

Wendy gave a mental snort, her irritation apparent. _Surprise, surprise... but the real question is why you gave me the suggestion about mind-reading in the first place..._

"I'm really not the controlling force here at all, am I?" she murmured out loud.

"No?" A smile tugged at his lips.

"No," she replied firmly, getting lost in the implications. "You obviously have enormous control here. But then why do you need me?"

"I need you?" The smile was definitely broader than before, but his eyes were blank as he watched her.

"Of course," she replied shortly, still engrossed in her thought trail. "Otherwise, there would be no point in expending all this energy on me. So, what is it that I do that you cannot?" She put her finger to her lower lip, idly tapping it while she thought. "I can create things, imagine things," she waved her hand lazily through the air, "but so can you. The mind-reading, the link between our worlds, the knowledge of my desires with the gwyndilons." She stopped tapping her lip and began on her chin. "All these things you have done are linked to me, however. You couldn't create the portrait travel by yourself - that you needed me for. That you had to _pact_ me to do."

His tone was gently teasing. "You weren't particularly adverse to the idea at the time, if I recall."

She purposefully ignored him, and the ensuing blush that memory brought. "So you push and you prod and you manipulate, but it is always _me _that you have this connection to. But through me, you can manipulate this world." She looked up then, satisfied.

"So you have it all figured out, then?" His voice was very carefully neutral.

She finally turned to look at him, contemplative and drawing on a somewhat new reserve of distant calm. "I have motivation for you, which will satisfy me for the time being. As long as I'm not expendable to you, I will be at ease to enjoy the remainder of our time tonight."

He did not move for a moment, and the ice of his eyes melted some. "Then by all means, Madame Storyteller, let us enjoy ourselves." He extended his hand courteously.

She did not put hers in it. "There's one thing more."

He inclined his head indulgently, waiting.

"What's the price this time? For tipping me your hand with the mind-reading. Advantages like that don't come for free, as you so kindly reminded me. And I already owe you 'anything' for that trickery at Reddon House." She sighed, annoyed with herself for that indiscretion. "What do you want now, two anythings?"

His eyes glittered with a sharp intensity. "Is that an offer, Storyteller?"

"That, sir," she said coolly, "was spoken in jest."

He grasped her hand suddenly, drawing her close as he said softly, "You should be careful about such things."

She felt the electric nearness of him, that rich, crisp vibrancy that had engulfed her during the viennese waltz. Her words tumbled out, flustered and breathless, before she had time to edit them. "Must we always be careful?"

His breath whispered across her skin. "That depends largely on what is at stake."

She reached a hand around the back of his neck, drawing him closer. He smelled of the moon and, somewhat strangely, of green growing things. She locked eyes with him, her voice gone low. "So what's at stake now, Jack? What's the price?"

Silver coin laughter flowed down from him, thrumming through her. "You do always want to know such things."

She sighed with an unfamiliar sort of impatience that made her want to keep touching him, despite their verbal sparring. "That's because they tend to be important."

His gloved fingers drifted down her back, stroking. "Only because you make them so."

"Don't play that word game with me, sir." Her words were soft, a touch breathless, as her pulse quickened. "You don't give something without getting something in return. That's no other way it 's done. Especially not by _you_."

He leaned down closer to her, his lips brushing along the side of her face. "And why, my dear, are you so very sure it was me that your bargain was made with?"

She inhaled suddenly, wickedly distracted by his touch. "Well, at this juncture, who _else_ would it be with?"

Though she couldn't see it, a flash of something predatory touched his smile. "Who, indeed?" He drew away, though his arms encircled her more closely, an exciting warmth against her back. "Perhaps, then, you have already given me something I want."

She stared at him for some moments, her instincts sensing a trap she had just been caught in. But the sensation of him against her, the sharp beauty of him quelled the warning prickles in her mind. "And what might this something be?"

"Some of your trust, my darling girl," he replied lightly, his fingers massaging the small of her back.

The sensation of his fingers moving against her skin was both startling and wonderful. A delicate heat began to course through her. "And what makes you so sure you have that?"

His voice was a low, rippling thing. "First, you're letting me touch you." His hands moved gracefully up her back further, dancing over her spine, drawing that delicate heat through her. "And, second, you're letting yourself enjoy it."

A furious blush colored her cheeks and her back became rigid beneath his skillful fingers.

"Shhhh, my darling girl," he murmured to her, his fingers continuing to massage and caress. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying such things."

"And I suppose you would know all about that, would you?" Her words were defensive, meant to be biting. Unfortunately, they came out rather more like a sigh, since she had relaxed beneath his touch again and found (much to her chagrine) that she had, in fact, closed her eyes to savor the sensation more fully.

She felt the sultry burn of his pleasure very, very clearly. "I know many things. Some I believe you would like very much."

Her mouth became very dry. "Oh." It was little more than a whisper, and she felt that delicate fire move through her veins harder, faster.

A sudden surge of flashing green eyes snaked through her thoughts and yanked her back into some control of herself. Her eyes snapped open and she stiffened against him.

"Of course," he said, still far too close for sensible thought, "I believe all of them require that trust of yours."

Her pulse skittered, and she took a slow, deep breath and did not look up at him. "A valuable commodity, is it, my trust?"

His smile was the sun bursting across snow, felt rather than seen. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Extraordinarily difficult to come by, I assure you."

She was warmed, the sharp-edged thoughts lulled by his velvety touch. She wanted very much to close the distance between their lips right then, to let the scent of moon and green-growing things roll over her as she tasted the winter brightness of his smile. Her fingers reached up to him again as she lifted her eyes.

Something in his eyes shifted, became colder. She felt herself drawn in again, falling, skin threatening to split with the sudden wash of intoxicating sensation that flooded her. The delicate fire of before was an uncontained rampage beneath her skin.

His eyes flashed with a very masculine certainty. _This battle, _I_ will win, my darling._

Though she knew she was being effortlessly manipulated, she wondered lazily if that would really be such a bad thing. To let him win, to simply let him control this one small thing...what could it hurt?

A violent hissing in her thoughts thrust her back into herself again, followed by a deep, grounding sense of power. Thick and rich as earth or wood, calming and unbreakable, flowing through her with the force of an ocean.

She felt the fire leave her limbs as she broke from him, regret causing her fingers to linger for a moment. Disappointment and embarrassment colored her words, both overshadowed by a strange alien detachment. "So everything is always a battle for you, something to turn to your advantage. What happened to your pretty words of enjoying things?"

Bitterness twisted his smile. "I never said I took such advice myself."

She continued to look at him, words slithering up from cool recesses inside her mind. "A poor sort of game then, isn't it? When only one of us is willing to let go."

Her words struck him, and his smile tightened with dark emotion before his mask of casual boredom slipped firmly back on.

He bowed mockingly. "I am as you would have me."

The power that grounded her drained away suddenly, and frustration rode hard to the surface of her thoughts. Though she knew it was pretense, she was still offended by his sudden shift to insouciance and courtly disdain. _Impossible, impossible man._

She flashed suddenly on an image of Peter Pan then, so comfortable and easy in his simplicity of emotion and desire. Memories flushed suddenly through her, and a deep longing.

The Jack's eyes chilled further, though he dropped his mocking demeanor for a carefully neutral mask.

A fine shudder moved along her spine. She waited for him to speak.

His words came finally, whispered bursts of cold. "Never uncomplicated, never distilled into startling bursts of black and white. Yes, you're right. I live in shades of grey. _As you would have me_."

Wendy opened her mouth, realized she had nothing to reply to this, and closed it again. She turned away from him and sat down abruptly in a nearby chair, gazing out at the dancers swooping around the floor in their enchanted rapture. Her own previously unadulterated joy of the dance teased at her thoughts. The great soothing force that had grounded her before was quite gone, leaving her mind fluttering with unease.

After a few moments, he sat down next to her, and watched her watching the merriment of the others, and remembering. Silence curled and twisted around them both.

"Do you still want your sunlight boy, then?" His voice was soft, courteous even. She felt the dagger beneath it.

The silence persisted, oppressive as she rapidly considered the question. She reminisced briefly over the happy simplicity of her time with Peter - thimbles and fairies and promises. _Promises which he had neglected to keep_, chided the back corner of her mind. After a few moments, she came to an answer that was both reasonably safe and true.

"I don't think such a boy would want me now. I'm too old."

He touched her shoulder, turning her to face him. The touch was gentle, but the accompanying smile was not. "That's not what I asked, Storyteller."

A sudden wicked perversity seized her, and she replied, "You're right. That isn't what you asked."

A gleam of amusement flashed through his eyes. "Will you answer, Storyteller?"

She arched an eyebrow. "If I don't, will you put it to me thrice anyway?"

Amusement traced a smile across his lips. "I could be tempted to."

She pretended to consider this momentarily, lifting her hand to move lightly along his arm. "And what would tempt you not to?"

He noted her touch of him, and his smile widened. "What are you offering?"

"What if I don't wish to tell you?"

"Then that," he said softly, "I may put to you three times." He raised his other hand to capture hers. "Well," he amended, "two more times."

"May," she replied, keeping her hand in his, "or will?"

His eyes glittered with a sharp merriment. "Will."

She was playfully defiant in return. "Go ahead, then. Ask."

His words were laced with subtle laughter. "What are you offering, Storyteller?"

Her eyes sparkled. "How do you know I'm bound by the same rules as you with regards the questioning?"

He was undeterred, though pleased by her verbal parry. "Your own rules, my dear. Very fair of you. Now, what are you offering me?"

She graced him with a small, wry smile. "My trust. For the evening."

A grin touched his lips. "I already had that, I believe, Mistress Storyteller. A rather poor offering, don't you think?"

She was unruffled. "_Had_, past tense, Lord Winterkiss. But I believe you lost it shortly thereafter. I'm willing to give it to you again."

"Quite tempting, then." He trailed gloved fingers down the side of her face, and she felt the draw of subtle fire where they touched. "I believe I shall accept," he said, his voice dropping low. "So pacted, darling girl."

Her composure began to waver, and she inhaled sharply beneath his touch. "Good, then. So pacted."

At the saying of those last words, something inside her shifted. Remembered heartache crystallized and shattered beneath the memories of thimbles and promises that did not keep through time. She breathed in the scent of the Jack, of the distant silver moon and things growing thick and wild in the darkness of a forest, and felt it wrap around her with sinuous gentility. The scent was enticing, invigorating - and oddly comforting. A flash of green eyes was there in her mind, then gone, and she was again left with an alien sense of approval.

Beneath everything, a certain edge of practicality hardened in her mind, overwhelming the pristine idealism she had kept safe for so long.

Far away from the Black Castle, the passage way from the light side to the night side shimmered and shifted. A deep, satisfied rumbling passed through the gwyndilons. In the hidden boughs of the forests, emerald eyes blinked, waiting and watching.

A gypsy spattering of violins pierced Wendy's thoughts. The music was tantalizing, a hint of ferocity beneath the rippling notes.

The Jack stood up, and offered a courteous leather-gloved hand to her. "Would you care to tango, Wendy?"

It did not escape her that this was his first use of her name.

"Yes, Jack, I would." She took his hand, and they strode onto the dance floor.

* * *

Soon, Wendy was thoroughly engaged with the fierce passion and sharp quickness of the tango, which came with the same unconscious ease as the viennese waltz earlier. So engaged was she, in fact, that she did not see the watcher in the window. It was a boy, his skin kissed by the jungle sun, his garb made of leaves and vines. He perched on the stone and his eyes were very wide in a pale face.

Far away on the light side, it began to storm.

Peter curled into a crook in the expansive window and pulled out his pan pipe.

The first notes of the pan pipe glided gently into the ballroom, causing Wendy's head to snap towards the source.

_Peter_.

Cold amusement and something more ruthless flashed through the Jack's eyes as he felt Wendy stiffen. "Perhaps you were not correct in your assessment of your sunlight boy, Mistress Storyteller."

She broke from him and ran to the side of the room where those airy, mournful notes had come from. But the melody had stopped, for Peter had already flown away.

She stopped at the window and looked out into the night, cool practicality warring with heartache and soaring hope. Moment after moment slid by in the sudden hush of the ballroom, as she stared into the waiting dark.

In the end, practicality conquered.

"Perhaps," she murmured finally, "it doesn't really matter now."

A vicious triumph stole across the Jack's features as the violins began to play again.

* * *


	7. Six: Of Plots and Secrets

Chapter 6

Of Plots and Secrets

Peter tore away from the Black Castle, an unfamiliar dark pain coursing through him. Though not entirely unfamiliar, actually - had something happened with Tink a long time ago? Did she go away for a time perhaps? But it was like that - that sense of... loss? Yes, loss. That seemed like the right word.

To lose Wendy would be disaster - especially to _him_. Worse than a pirate or the croc, far worse.

"He will not have her," muttered Peter to himself as he flew. "He can't. She must be saved. _I_ will save her..." Yes, rescue was required here. That was familiar enough. Someone was in danger, and Peter must go save them.

And that someone was his Wendy.

_She was dancing with him. And smiling while she did it!_

"Fiend," spat Peter softly. "Tricky, sneaky Jack-fiend."

That was the only explanation, of course - that Winterkiss had tricked Wendy. To rescue Wendy from him would not be a simple thing, then. She was under his spell, it was certain.

_Why else would she have danced and smiled so?_

Peter landed near the mermaid's lagoon, the place he preferred to go when more careful thought was required. He perched contemplatively near the water's edge, which was illuminated by the gentle violet glow of the eyeball lichen.

He had to wound Winterkiss and shatter his illusion, make Wendy see what a foul villain he really was. But how? How to make Wendy see...

A sing-song voice called to him from the dark waters, interrupting his thoughts. "Come play, boy?" Water splashed hypnotically in time to the words. "The sea is lovely and warm tonight. Won't you come play?"

The mellifluous inquiry surprised a laugh from him, and he easily dodged the merciless hand that sought to drag him into the decidedly cold water. "You'll have to try harder than that, mermaid. I've seen that trick of yours before."

She hissed at him, baring her sharp, glittering teeth.

Undisturbed by her efforts, he remained by the water's edge looking out across the night time sea. His fingers traced over his panpipe, but he did not play it.

The mermaid was intrigued enough by this to swim near him again. "Why aren't you playing that pipe thing of yours, boy?"

He didn't bother to look at her. "Don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I just don't!" he snapped, turning away from the water. "Leave me alone, mermaid."

The mermaid didn't, however. Her voice was slyly casual as she asked, "Is it about that girl of the Jack's?"

He whirled on her, causing the nearby eyeball lichen to rustle reproachfully. "She is _not_ his girl."

His sharp outburst amused the mermaid mightily. "Oh no?"

"No," he replied defiantly. "What do you know about her, anyway?"

The mermaid swished lazily in the water. "I hear things. Snake goblins talk, you know."

He looked intently at her, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "Tell me."

The mermaid flicked her tail saucily, splashing the eyeball lichen, which murmured indignantly. "Well, she's at the ball tonight."

Peter grumpily crossed his arms, and turned his back on her. "I know that already." He glanced over his shoulder. "Why aren't you at that party thing, anyway? All the rest of them are there, dressed in their pretty clothes. Dancing in those...patterns. Like fairy dance patterns."

She drew back haughtily, pearlescent eyes darkening. "I have better things to do than curry favor with the Jack."

Peter looked at her strangely, at the silver tear suspended from her neck. "You serve him. You're his creature."

She hissed sharply. "I am _not_ his creature, boy."

Peter cocked his head to the side, puzzlement spilling across his face. "Then why do you wear that silver tear of his?"

"It's power," she replied tightly. "Not enough to compensate what we gave away, fools that we were. But power, nonetheless."

He eyed her. "Power to do what?"

"Power to influence, " she said carefully, discomfited by his keen interest. "We cannot create as he does, but we can...request certain things."

"Like what?"

"You ask too many questions!" she snapped.

He grinned at her vexation, and blew a few notes into his pipe. "So you don't like him much, either."

She sank into the water with a bitter smile. "We've had our differences."

"So that's why you're out here swimming all by yourself while all the other mermaids are with Winterkiss," he said, thoughtful. "Must be lonely."

The mermaid didn't care much for this assessment, and dove under the water, making a very rude gesture at him with her tail.

But she surfaced a few moments later, because she _was_ out here swimming all alone and this boy, irritating though he might be, was the most entertainment she was likely to get for the evening. And though she hated to admit it, he did wield considerable power in this place.

Peter's eyes glinted oddly in the moonlight as he looked her. "Say...you swim everywhere in the sea around here, don't you?"

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Most places - why?"

He started to pace along the lagoon's edge. "Have you ever come across a memory? It'd be pretty ugly."

She blinked slowly and stared at him. "A what?"

"A memory," he said, somewhat impatiently. "Probably glows a bit." He paused. "May stink, too."

"Not that I know of," she replied, blinking again. "Why?"

"Well, my fairy Tink told me a secret about Jack Winterkiss once. In fact, it's how you got that silver tear of yours."

The mermaid was now looking at Peter very, very intently. "Tell me, boy."

"See, he lost his nastiest, cruelest, most painful memory a while back," said Peter, turning to pace the other direction. "Tink nabbed it from him one night for some festival thing of theirs. But Jack, he was so happy, Tink said he shed _happy _ tears." He stopped, thinking this over. "I don't know if that works, actually - do people shed tears when they're happy? I thought they only did that when they're sad..."

The mermaid's pearlescent eyes shimmered, reflecting the violet light of the eyeball lichen. "Go on, boy. What about this memory?"

Peter resumed his pacing. "Well, it's a weakness, right? Without it, he's more together, more free...but if he ever got it back, it'd be like a wound. Knock him out, maybe twist him up inside. Weaken him. " He paused again, looking out across the sea. "I wonder if it's poisonous."

The mermaid raised an eyebrow at this. "It's his memory originally, boy. I doubt it would be poisonous to him."

Peter continued, unperturbed by the mermaid's objection. "But he's been free of it for awhile now. I bet he couldn't stand it now. Tink said it was that bad - something about malice, resentment, and disappointment." He stopped, and looked down at the mermaid. "What's malice?"

"Something potentially quite damaging, indeed," replied the mermaid smoothly. She drifted in the water meditatively. "Suppose we retrieve this memory and somehow get the Jack to take it back into himself. Then what?"

Peter's face lit with mischevious glee. "Then you get your power back from him while he's weak, and I show Wendy what a nasty grown-up he is before I run him through."

The mermaid snorted softly at his enthusiasm and the childish simplicity of the plan...but this_ did _have possibilities. "Where did Tink put the memory?"

"Well, that's where you come in," replied Peter. "They tossed it into the sea."

"Ah," said the mermaid, smiling wryly.

"But then the croc ate it," he continued.

The mermaid's smile faded. "That's trickier, boy. One does not tangle with that beast lightly."

"But then," said Peter cheerfully, "the croc threw it back up somewhere."

The mermaid wrinkled her nose. "Crocodile vomit is only slightly more appealing."

"Oh, it was a while ago," said Peter, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm sure it's been washed pretty clean by now. Well, as clean as it ever was. Do you think you could find it?"

The mermaid's eyes narrowed in thought. "Perhaps." She flicked her tail, splashing the eyball lichen, who murmured indignantly. "It would require a certain amount of cunning. Suppose I do find it - how do we get it to the Jack and make him take it back?"

His grin sparkled in the moonlight. "Leave that to me - I'll work it out with Tink."

A bitter smile twisted the mermaid's glistening blue lips. "You have such faith in your abilities, boy."

Boyish arrogance colored the grin as he crowed, "That's because I'm Peter Pan - the best that ever was!"

She inclined her head slightly, her voice sardonic. "Here is what I propose then, Peter-Pan-the-best-that-ever-was. I will hunt this memory for you in the great waters of the sea. If and when I find it, I will send a message to you. It will come through the waters with my name - Melisande. Listen for it." She sank lower into the water, into the darkness beyond the violet light of the lichen. "And plan well with your fairy in the mean time," she said before her head disappeared into the cold of the lagoon.

Peter tilted his head back to laugh joyously into the night before flying back to Tink.

* * *

The ball had ended some time ago, and Wendy and Jack now sat together in a section of the gardens outside the castle, sipping pomegranate juice laced with something that Wendy felt sure Reddon House wouldn't approve of in the slightest. She smiled as she looked up at the stars. The place had a lovely deteriorated look about it, with white roses climbing and stretching across crumbling pieces of wall that separated the gardens from the courtyard. If Wendy had been listening, she would have heard something quite interesting indeed from the thoughts of the gwyndilons inside the courtyard.

_So close._

_Yes, _agreed the Jack. _Yes we are._

But Wendy was not listening. Instead, she was quite busy thinking her own thoughts about very serious (and, though she wouldn't admit it to herself, exciting) things. At last she took a very deep breath, and spoke.

"That was truly delightful, Jack." She placed her free hand near his gloved one, almost touching. "I've never danced that way before. It was...amazing. It felt like flying."

A small smile of pleasure had appeared on his face at the use of his name. "I thought you would like it - despite your initial misgivings."

Wendy smiled ruefully, remembering her grumpiness upon her latest arrival to Perhaps. It seemed like so much had changed since then.

_So this was what growing up feels like. Not too bad, really._

She realized suddenly that he had been listening to her carelessly broadcast thoughts. And probably all the ones before that. A furious blush colored her cheeks, and she looked very intently down at her lap.

He traced a finger along her cheek, then down along her neck, letting it linger for a moment there before lifting her chin. "And what has caused you to grow up tonight, Wendy?"

A fresh blush overtook her. "As if I haven't been shouting it out to you the entire evening with this accursed mental link."

Playfulness streaked across his features. "Well then, let's pretend that you haven't."

The words of 'let's pretend' elicited a sharp intake of breath from her.

He laughed gently, a cool and liquid sound. "What, you thought only Peter knew how to play that game?"

Wendy's words tripped out in surprise, "I...I mean, grown-ups can't...er, why would..." She broke off, thoughts still stumbling.

His eyes sparkled. "Perhaps growing up isn't what you think it is." He smiled with just a touch of wickedness. "You can still have plenty of games and adventures. Trust me."

Her voice was quiet. "You're walking that fine line of trust again, you know."

"Ah, but you already ceded me your trust. Would you take it back again so soon, Wendy?"

Despite the continuing rush of blood to her face, a wry smile worked its way across her lips. "I suppose, Jack, that you're going to recommend to me precisely what sorts of games and adventures grown-ups can have."

His smile definitely contained more than a touch of wickedness "And suppose I was?"

Wendy took a slow, deep breath. "Well, I suspect the matrons at Reddon House would be quite mortified by your lack of gentlemanly propriety."

His fingers stroked the line from neck to shoulder. "Whoever said I was a gentleman?"

She leaned a little into his touch, her breathing quickening again. "Not I, apparently. And besides, anything the Reddon House biddies disapprove of must have _some_ merit."

His silvery laughter cascaded along her skin.

She opened her eyes then, emboldened with an impudent curiosity. "So go on, then. Tell me of your grown-up games and adventures."

A sudden heat flashed behind his eyes. "Some of them may not require much in the way of _telling_."

Implications burgeoned in the silence, and Wendy's nerve abruptly failed her. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the icy fire in his. But his fingers continued their unhurried caresses, and she felt that increasingly familiar flame building and pulsing through her blood.

Beth's words suddenly floated irreverently through Wendy's mind. _I do so love a villain._

_Yes, _thought Wendy, _I certainly do._

She leaned into him without warning, laying her cheek against the remembered snowflake soft material of his shirt. His chest was strong and solid beneath her, and his fingers moved their caresses to the loose locks of her hair.

"Enough verbal play, Jack," she said softly as she listened to his heart beat.

"I'm perfectly happy to provide some of the nonverbal variety."

Her lips quirked in an embarrassed smile. "I'm sure. But I need to speak to you of more serious things."

His chest stilled, the rhythmic breathing barely perceptible. "And what things are those?"

She took a breath. "Tell me what you want of me." She looked up at him, noting the slow, measured blink he gave her. He was already forming a deft reply, when she cut him off with a finger against his lips. "I've been enchanted, doted upon, and skillfully seduced on the dance floor. I have, as a result, been put in as good a mood as you're likely to get me in. What do you want from me, Jack? And such pretty bland blocks as 'happiness' will not be acceptable. I want details and specifics."

He looked out across the gardens for a moment, then closed his eyes, listening. The snake goblins, Bren and Snerr, were in much too close proximity for it to be accidental. They had obviously recovered from their latest encounter with the gwyndilons.

His words to Wendy were caressing, humming with a familiar chord of persuasion. "Here is perhaps not the place for such things."

She arched an eyebrow, slowing the sudden frantic beating of her heart with a large application of will power. "That bad, is it?"

"No," he replied softly. "But it is not something that I wish for Bren and Snerr to spread."

The snake goblins stiffened, as did Wendy.

"Yes, I know you're there." His voice was silky smooth, almost generous. The look in his eyes, however, was not. "Not very subtle tonight, are we, boys? I recommend you either eavesdrop elsewhere or be more skillful at concealing your presence. Now, be off with you...before I decide to reacquaint you with the gwyndilons of the courtyard. "

The snake goblins swayed slightly, their tails twisting involuntarily in fear. The moonlight glistened over their undulating scales. Wendy wondered briefly how she ever could have missed seeing them, even at night. She silently admired their deadly speed as they darted away.

Jack closed his eyes briefly, with a touch of impatience. "I recommend further than the trees around the corner." More soft rustling could be heard as the snake goblins attempted (vainly) to keep some sort of eavesdropping vantage point.

"Ah, never mind." He gently moved to stand up, extending his hand to Wendy. "Come, my dear - I think it best we continue this elsewhere. My private chambers, perhaps."

A jolt tore through Wendy.

He regarded her for a moment. "Not a place the matrons of Reddon House would approve of, I take it?"

She blinked at him before replying. "Not in the slightest."

"Would it help if I mentioned that I have far more control over what my subjects hear when I am in my own chambers, and this is the main reason for my suggested location?"

"Not in the slightest."

"And so, really," he said, as if quite thoughtful, "you would be scandalizing them to the utmost were you to come with me right now?"

She smiled up at him, impish merriment alight in her face. "I rather think I would be, yes."

He smiled back at her, moonlit mischief running through his eyes. "Well then...are you coming?"

She stood and placed her hand in his.

They strode to the great, towering gates of the castle through the courtyard. It was a very different experience this time around, with the wall of power that seemed to surround them both as they made their way effortlessly past the gwyndilons.

Actually, strike that - it was just that this time she knew where it was coming from. She glanced at the tall and elegant form beside her, and alongside the nervous shiver she had expected was an oddly heated anticipation.

Oh, how Reddon House would disapprove. She smiled a little more to herself.

Amusement quirked the corners of the Jack's mouth as well as he walked beside her.

Soon, the portrait hall appeared around them. They stopped in front of one portrait which showed a luxuriously decorated chamber of purple, black, and silver. Extraordinarily elegant, tapered, and dramatic, like the man himself. She noted there was no bed visible, and was thankful for that. It was a very proper receiving room, from the look of it.

The Jack stepped through, the portrait shimmering as he did so. Wendy followed, unafraid and decidedly curious.

She emerged into the Jack's private chambers, and sat down with him on a black velvet couch in front of a decidedly cheery fire. For a few moments, she simply sipped more pomegranate juice from her goblet, and waited for him to speak.

He, quite unhelpfully, didn't. Instead, he seemed content to simply look into the dancing flames of the hearth and remain next to her in silence.

Drowsiness began to pull at her with the delicious heat of the fire and the sudden soothingness of his presence beside her, and she realized she hadn't the time to be patient.

She let her hand slide across the top of his gloved one, while stifling a yawn. "Alright, Jack - out with it, please."

He remained silent.

She looked at him pointedly. Bothersome man.

"Come now, Jack," she chided gently, "unless you're planning to walk me off a plank to be swallowed by a ravenous crocodile, it really can't be all that bad."

He smiled absently, his eyes unfocused as they gazed into the fire.

She moved her hand to his shoulder, sighing a little as her fingers traced across the fine fabric of his coat. "Jack, please. I know you want something to do with my ability to manipulate Perhaps. With my...imagination. Because it's like yours." She closed her eyes, willing herself to be eloquent enough to gain a measure of _his_ trust. "Just tell me."

Silence billowed around them both.

Wendy's spirits sank just a little. He wouldn't tell her. It was still some game, with her as the unwitting pawn.

He spoke suddenly. "Would you give me the luxury of a day before I tell you? I'll show you anything you'd like in Perhaps all tomorrow, and then tomorrow night, I will tell you."

Skepticism flared across her face, and a fine edge of disappointment.

His eyes gleamed as he continued nonchalantly, "I could show you another way to fly without pixie dust."

Wendy blinked, her interest caught. But she was quite aware that he meant it as bait, a means of softening her up before whatever he had planned. She looked at him solemnly. "Promise me what you want doesn't involve walking me off a plank to be swallowed by a ravenous crocodile."

He laughed, genuine and full of pleasure. "That, I can promise."

She continued her solemn look. "Nor any other imminent doom scenarios."

He looked very solemnly back at her. "No imminent doom for you, I promise. Unless you count the flying without pixie dust."

She smiled mischeviously, inclining her head. "I accept your terms. So pacted, Jack Winterkiss."

His laughter rolled over her again. "Indeed, Wendy Darling."

They sat in companionable silence then, each quiet as they watched the fire. Soon, Wendy's eyes began to flicker open and shut. Jack rescued the pomegranate juice from Wendy's wavering hand when she was unable to stifle a very large yawn. She smiled sleepily in thanks, her head drifting down and to the side.

"Here," he said softly, drawing her near, "lean your head against me."

She was too far gone to notice the delicate care he took with her, as if she were a wild creature that would startle and flee at his touch. His fingers stroked her hair softly as she lay against him. She murmured something about "soft as snowflakes" before her breathing slowed into the regular rhythm of sleep.

The Jack remained very still, savoring the feeling of her curled against him. So trusting, she was, to fall asleep here with him. So very trusting.

Warm contentment drifted lazily through him, and it had nothing to do with the fire.

He watched her for a few moments. She really was a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl with a clever, clever mind. A good fit, indeed.

He gently maneuvered around so that he could lift her up without waking her, and then carried her securely in his arms back through the portrait to her own chamber. As he laid her carefully down onto the bed, she stirred briefly, murmuring "winter-star eyes...", but did not wake.

He gazed down at her again for some moments before covering her with the bedclothes. Then, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the forehead. She smiled in her sleep.

_Ah, my dear, everything falls into place. I will have what I want, I think - and soon._

His smile was dark and sinuous as he closed the door and returned to his private chambers. The information from his sentinels had come at a very good time, indeed. And the eyeball lichen, unlike many other information sources, were incorruptible.

He walked to the gilt-edged mirror that faced the fire and touched seven jewels worked into the frame in quick succession. A powerfully built half-man half-seal shape appeared. Radamanthan was a selkie who knew the sea domains surrounding Perhaps very well and who, conveniently, was indebted to him at the moment.

The selkie inclined his head in greeting. "Lord Winterkiss. What can I do for you?"

"I would like to call in one of the favors you owe me, Radamanthan."

"As you wish, my lord. Tell me what you require."

"I wish you to retrieve an object for me. It is not a particularly pleasant object, so it has been stored with great care in the deep bowels of this castle. I will have a key delivered to you that will lead you to it, however. To activate the key, touch it to your forehead so it may recognize you. Once you have retrieved the object, I wish you to conceal it near the crocodile's lair - but not too well. It must appear to simply have been tossed aside in the wake of the beast. Can you do that, Radamanthan?"

The selkie's eyes were inscrutable. "I can, my Lord. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Radamanthan, it will."

Radamanthan bowed, and his image faded in the mirror. The image that reappeared revealed a man with a rather wicked smile.

The Jack closed his eyes then, a small crease of concentration in his brow. Slowly, an incandescent ball of light formed in his palms as he whispered his words of instruction. Tenuous glowing filaments stretched from his lips to the ball, molding and shaping it, telling it of Radamanthan and how to lead him through the dank and twisting labyrinth of the dungeons to the stinking prize.

At last, it was done. The Jack opened his eyes and looked down at the key fondly. A work of art, each one of them was - true faerie power. Certainly one of the more pleasurable aspects of ruling this realm. "To Radamanthan," he directed it. The key pulsed quickly once in affirmation, and then floated towards the mirror, melded through it, and was gone.

The Jack laughed softly, very, very pleased with the way things were unfolding.

Of course he had known the fate of the black memory that was the keystone of Peter's plot. He had collected it shortly after the crocodile had decided it unfit for digestion. Once the selkie retrieved it from its hiding place in the dungeons and placed it in a plausible spot near the crocodile's lair, Melisande should have no difficulty finding it.

He paused, remembering the brutal viciousness of the beast.

Well, perhaps not too much difficulty. After all, dealings with the creature inevitably involved a certain amount of risk. But Melisande should find it soon, and then she would call Peter. And together they would enact their little scheme.

And then Wendy would be his.

He looked into the mirror, and it showed him a man with fierce and icy eyes, his face suffused with the pleasure of the hunt. Wendy had called him the Master Manipulator, and he was very much enjoying living up to the title.


	8. Seven: In Which Great Things Are Afoot

Chapter 7

In Which Great Things Are Afoot

The message came in the morning, burbling through the brilliant turquoise waves of the sea.

_From Melisande, Peter-Pan-the-best-that-ever-was, from Melisande..._

Peter dove into the cool waters, and the whispers coalesced.

_I have found it. Meet me at Singing Rock at sunset._

Peter exploded out of the waters into the sunlight, crowing with delight. Tinkerbell darted around him, flickering irritatedly at the drenched state of her clothes and demanding to know what all the fuss was about.

"Tink, oh Tink!" he laughed, "She's found it! She's found Winterkiss's memory!" He did cartwheels in the air around her, a delighted spray of boyish limbs. "This is perfect - we should have Wendy back tonight!"

Peter soared into the air then, his laughter trailing after him.

This was, in fact, why he didn't see Tink's rather furrowed brow as she looked up after him. To be honest, Tink hadn't really expected the memory to be found so soon. Curse the mermaid's quickness! It really wouldn't be good for Tink's Boy to have that Wendy-girl around again - why, the girl had wanted him to grow up with her the last time she was here! Imagine! Tink's Boy tricked into growing up and leaving Neverland...

Tink shuddered a little, closing her eyes.

No, no - this really wouldn't do. He was meant to be her Boy forever, pure and untouchable and wild and free. Careless innocence and cruel simplicity, a Boy of sunlight and forest.

Tink paused for a moment, a very complicated thought entering her head. That mermaid had found the memory very, very quickly, hadn't she? In all the waters of the sea, she had found it after a single night's search, as if she had been _meant_ to find it.

Maybe the Jack knew.

Well, the Jack did seem to want to keep the Wendy-girl for some reason. Of course, he had no fairy of his own to love him. Perhaps that was why he wanted her.

Let him have her, then. And good riddance.

Of course, Tink would still help her Boy with this plan - but she wouldn't say a word about the Jack possibly knowing all about the plan. It was part of the game, part of the adventure. And if the Jack turned out to be trickier in his plans than her Boy, well then...so be it. She would have no female competition for her Boy's attention, and that was perfectly fine with Tink.

Tink smiled and flew after her Boy to spend the glorious summer day ahead of them plotting their latest adventure.

* * *

Wendy and Jack strolled through the forest to the east of the Black Castle, basking in the eerie green-gold afternoon light. Not like sunlight, really, but the odd glint of it suited the forest. The forest itself positively screamed _Enchanted_. The trees soared into the unseen sky above, vast expanses of wood and leaf. Rather like the Light Side's jungle, really. Just...murkier. Less complete, somehow.

_Almost perfect, but not quite._

The thought was low and soft in Wendy's mind. Bitter, proud, and tasting of starry nights.

She glanced over at Jack. The blank coolness of his eyes betrayed nothing as he smiled at her.

_Poor man, _she thought cheekily, _you don't _ _like coming in second to Peter in anything, do you?_

Jack's smile chilled, his eyes sharper. _Why be second when you can be first?_

Wendy empathized with his competitive spirit, though she smirked just a trifle. But she did want to fix the imbalance within this forest. For an imbalance it certainly was, and though she couldn't have told how she knew, she knew every creature within the forest felt the subtle undercurrent of insubstantiality.

What to do about this forest, then?

Wendy considered for a moment. One had to indeed admit that the forest was a bit on the dark and brooding side. But it needed to be separate from the Light Side's jungle. Balance did not mean losing the uniqueness of the forest. Rather, there needed to be a...filling out of the space of possibilities. The Light Side's jungle had a rather dark tone to it already, though - vicious beasts to hunt, fierce Indian tribes to fight or ally with. The Dark Side almost needed a touch of lightness, really.

A lovely idea took shape in Wendy's mind suddenly as she thought on her assessment of the forest as _Enchanted_.

"Jack," she said, smiling mischievously and taking his hand, "There's a story I'd like to tell you."

Jack's eyes sparkled with anticipation and invitation. "Is there now? Do tell."

Wendy's smile widened into a grin as she jumped onto a nearby stump and sat down. She gestured grandly to the grassy expanse in front of her. "Do sit down so that you may properly enjoy the story."

Jack laughed softly as he complied and Wendy began to the intone the words of opening. "Once upon a time," she said, "in the realm of Perhaps, to the east of the Black Castle, there was an Enchanted Forest. And this forest had very many extraordinary creatures in it, some with the gift of speech." A golden shimmer accompanied her words. "It also had, however, a very serious problem with a surplus of both dragons and tea..."

* * *

Several minutes later, Wendy's story was finished and she and the Jack resumed their stroll through the Enchanted Forest. A squirrel darted by, stopped suddenly, and bowed low to the Jack. "Your highness, Lord of Perhaps, Negotiator Tractatus Draconum Theaeque."

Jack cast Wendy a twinkling look before gravely returning the squirrel's formal greeting with the formal reply to a talking squirrel of the Enchanted Forest. "Well met, patterfoot."

"Your highness," acknowledged the squirrel, now upright, "I'm afraid I must be off, but would your highness and his lady friend please make sure to mind any of the dragons you should chance to meet? They've been quite testy lately before they've had their afternoon cup of tea."

Wendy laughed suddenly, which she disguised nearly successfully as a very violent sneeze.

The squirrel looked very hard at Wendy.

Wendy attempted to compose herself, so as not to give offense.

With a wry glance in Wendy's direction, Jack answered decorously, "Thank you, patterfoot. Your advice is most appreciated."

The squirrel paused, then said in a thoroughly motherly and disapproving tone, "And your highness might try taking his lady friend to Grandmother Toad for a good tea for that cold."

Jack's eyes positively glowed with humor. "Indeed, patterfoot. I thank you again for advice well received."

The squirrel sniffed reprovingly at Wendy, then bowed once more, and scampered away.

Wendy's eyes followed the squirrel as it left, her voice suddenly quite soft, "Could my words really have made all this?"

Jack tilted his head to the side, his eyes sparkling blue and gold in the light. "Is it so difficult to believe?"

Wendy smiled, amused at herself. "Yes, I suppose I do believe scores of other impossible things. And recently, this belief has turned out to be well-placed."

Jack's own lips quirked in an answering smile. "Oh? And what impossible things would these be?"

Wendy gave him a sidelong glance, mischief lighting her eyes. "That would be prized information, I suspect. What would you offer me in return?"

Jack's laughter rippled like quicksilver at her sudden negotiation tactic. He paused for a moment, then spoke. "Do you ever wonder how time flows here with respect to your stories? How long has the treaty with the dragons existed, for instance?"

Wendy looked full into his glittering eyes. "Good bait. I'll take it. Shall I go first?"

"As my lady wishes." They were courtly words, laced with a certain thrumming purr that she was learning to recognize as an easy manipulation of his.

And even still, her skin began to tingle. It vexed her that he would still do such things and that she would still so easily fall prey to them. To retaliate, she chose her reply with a mercenary efficiency. "Two impossible things I do well to believe in? Why, you and Peter, of course."

The laughter froze in his eyes, darkening as calculation slid behind them.

She returned his look of deepening ice, though she wasn't overly pleased to restart their verbal sparring. "Your turn."

"Very well." It was a sporting voice, of a challenge laid down. His smile was a sharp thing. "Time flows down many paths in this realm. The dragon treaty, for instance, is ancient and not ancient. It has existed for ages and has only recently come into being. It is a thing of Story. As is everything here."

Silence hung for a few moments.

At last, Wendy let out small sigh of impatience. "You enjoy being paradoxical, don't you?"

His smile twisted into something far more amused. "Perhaps."

Wendy closed her eyes briefly. _Why me? _

Though it was meant as a mock complaint, the words plucked at something deep inside her thoughts. Wendy was suddenly overcome by a vision of connecting threads across Perhaps and Neverland, bright fey fire lines of...something. Ghostly, pulsing, shifting, connecting through her and so many others here. For a brief moment, she felt very, very small. A shiver rustled down her spine, and the question became a real thing of power.

Jack felt its seductive pull, that reckless risk of Truth. And so he answered, his voice soft as shadows. "Because you really do believe."

Wendy considered this. _That answer's a little too easy, though._

He smiled wryly at her skeptic thought, and turned away from her. "Sometimes the easy answers are easy because they are true."

"And sometimes they're not," Wendy replied softly to his back.

He nodded his agreement. "And sometimes they're not."

Wendy sighed suddenly. "Do you have to practice at being this unhelpful?"

Her words surprised a short laugh from him. "Natural talent, actually."

She crossed her arms, smiling a little in return. "I should have known." Walking around to face him, she continued, "Is there any helpful information I'm likely to get from you?"

His face was suffused with sparkling mischief, taking her rather surprise. He reached out to her crossed arms, encouraging them unfold. "Not for the rest of the afternoon at least."

Wendy's smile widened. "You really enjoy all the sparring, don't you? Insufferable man."

He bowed courteously. "As you wish, my lady."

"That wasn't a request, sir!"

His eyes remained playful. "Just as well. You wouldn't really want to see me at my most insufferable."

Wendy raised her hand to her mouth in mock disbelief. "You can be more so? Inconceivable."

"Shall I attempt to convince you?"

"No, quite alright. I'll just add it to the list of impossible things I believe in."

Jack's laugher rolled across her. "Very well, then, Mistress Storyteller.."

"Indeed, Lord Winterkiss. Now, I think we had best continue out meanderings. There's a certain someone who owes me a flying lesson that doesn't involve pixie dust."

Jack's smile was warm with merriment. "A certain someone most certainly does. And there's much more to be seen in the Enchanted Forest besides." He offered her his arm. "My lady?"

"My lord." Wendy placed her arm in his, and they walked on.

* * *

The evening had come, the sun sinking lazily beneath the rippling sea in a riot of color. Soon, all was shadow and moonlight. The violet glow of the eyeball lichen shimmered against the surface of Singing Rock as a soft night breeze caused it to hum a twining, low melody.

With his panpipe, Peter unconsciously wrought an easy harmony with the notes from the rock. Tink stood on his shoulder, flickering with impatience as she listened to the hollow, lilting music of rock and pipe.

Melisande surfaced suddenly, a sack trailing behind her. A dark gash marred her chest, though she appeared reasonably unharmed otherwise. She gave Tink a hard, appraising look before directing her sharp eyes at Peter. Her words were sibilant and smooth. "It took some doing, boy - but I have it. It was just outside the beast's lair, buried beneath the muck."

Tink chimed an inquiry about her wound.

Melisande smiled bitterly. "Every adventure has its price, fairy."

"Show it to me!" demanded Peter imperiously, eyes bright with anticipation as he leaned closer to the water. "Show me the memory."

The mermaid opened the sack, which filled the air with a thick, rotten odor.

Peter drew back sharply with a grimace. "Is that what malice and disappointment smells like? It's like...it's..." He trailed off, lost for words in his revulsion.

"Like a disease," supplied Melisande. "Yes - it's a hideous thing. Very damaging, as you can imagine."

"This is what Winterkiss carried inside him?"

"Apparently."

Peter drew closer again, wafting experimentally. "It reminds me of something, though...someone." He looked out across the sea, thoughtful puzzlement tracing across his golden features. His eyes became unfocused, distant. "Tink, did we know someone else like the Jack once? Someone dark..."

Tink's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed. She tweaked his hair suddenly and chimed curtly back at him that he was a silly Boy. What did it matter? The time for the adventure was now.

"True, Tink," he said, turning to Melisande. "Alright - give it to me."

The mermaid smiled coldly. "Tell me of your plan first."

A gleeful smile spread across Peter's face. "Can you get an audience with Winterkiss and Wendy?"

Melisande looked at him and Tink both, finger sliding to the tear around her neck. "I can."

"Good," replied Peter, still gleeful. "Because we have a present for Winterkiss that Wendy should see."

Melisande looked at them both disdainfully. "What are you going to do - put it in a gift-wrapped box and hope it melds with him as soon as he opens the lid?"

"No...well, sort of," he said, grinning and pulling out a turquoise conch shell. It was enormous, captivating. Peter waggled his eyebrows, beginning a Let's Pretend in his best Story voice. "This, you see, is a very special shell." The thrum of his words pulled at Melisande. "Lost for ages in the waters of the sea, it contains the ancient melodies thought to have been lost to merkind forever. If you raise it to your ear, you can hear them, though - and they're beautiful." Soft almost-music shimmered through the silence, riding behind Peter's voice.. "They are the first, true songs of the merpeople."

Melisande stared at him, lost in his Let's Pretend for a moment. "You tell a good tale, boy."

Golden heat flashed in Peter's eyes for a moment. "I learned from a good storyteller."

"Indeed," replied Melisande thoughtfully. "And the Jack, being a collector of words and music and art - he will want this thing. He will want to hear it, to tip the shell to his ear and hear its story."

Peter grinned. "Exactly. Now, give me the memory. Actually," he amended, holding out the shell at arm's length, "just dump it in."

Melisande very carefully did so. Unfortunately, though now hidden from sight, the vile effluvia still permeated the casing of the shell.

Peter turned to Tink. "We need to do something about that."

Tink cheekily chimed her agreement, and fluttered about, pondering.

After several moments, Melisande dove under the water in disgust. Peter and Tink looked at each other warily. Soon, however, the mermaid surfaced with a sharp bit of oyster shell. "Bring it down to water-level, boy."

Curious, Peter did so.

Melisande stabbed suddenly at her chest with the oyster shard, reopening the wound from the crocodile. Deep purple blood seeped from the glistening flesh. She touched the silver tear around her neck to it, and the tear began to glow with a rich, blue-green light. "A bit of your dust, fairy," she said, grimacing, "if you please."

As puzzled as Peter, Tink sprinkled some over the blue-green light. It took on a golden hue. Melisande immediately touched the tear to the turquoise conch, which took on the blue-green-gold glow for a moment. Then, all the light fell away and everything was shadows and moonlight and the gentle violet glow of the lichen.

And the stench was gone.

Peter and Tink raised eyebrows at the mermaid, waiting for an explanation. Tink especially wanted to know about the fairy dust, tinkling her hope that its use had been necessary, given its valuable nature.

Melisande hissed at the fairy. "I give heartblood for this little illusion and you whine about losing some of your omnipresent fairy dust?"

Tink chimed back a smart reply about how well an illusion was going to work anyway against the Jack.

"Foolish fairy," said Melisande, smiling disdainfully. "Why do you think I used his tear? His tear for illusion, my heartblood for the siren-call of persuasion, and your precious pixie dust to ensure that the power of the light side would mask the illusion even from him."

Tink sniffed indignantly about the success of the illusion, but acquiesced that it wasn't a bad plan as plans went.

Melisande turned to Peter. "So then, a meeting with the Jack. He will admit me, if I ask it. But what makes you think he will allow you to be there?"

"He won't. We'll sneak in."

Melisande snorted. "You think he won't know you're coming?"

Peter grinned. "Just set up the meeting."

Melisande looked at him sharply for a moment, feeling his aura of shining luck. He pulsed with it, this Boy hero of Neverland. "Fine, then," she said finally, "When do you want the meeting?"

"Tonight at midnight," he said, his laughter trailing into the night. "Let's do it! Let's get that nasty Jack."

Melisande smiled viciously back. "Indeed."

* * *

The eerie gold-green light of the Enchanted Forest had faded into a dusky twilight, and the forest itself began to melt away into meadows of brilliant blue and purple flowers with a curiously heady scent.

She was about to remark on it when Jack smiled a very vicious sort of smile. It startled her, and she swallowed hard before she spoke. "What is it? Why do you smile so?"

His gaze drifted lazily to her as he continued to smile. "I love it when things go according to plan."

She pressed on carefully. "And what things are going according to what plan?"

He blinked slowly, predatorily. "Unrest with the mermaids will be quelled tonight. The one dissenting force in the mermaids, Melisande, has requested an audience with me." Something dark flashed behind his winter-star eyes. "It seems she's come to make peace after all."

Wendy looked at him thoughtfully. "But there's something more, isn't there? You anticipate this the way a hunter does his prey."

His face became blank for a moment, startled by her far-too-accurate assessment.

She fought with moderate success to keep from smiling. "You might try not thinking thoughts that translate best as villainous laughter."

He looked very solemnly at her. "Perhaps maniacal glee would be better then?"

A giggle escaped Wendy before she could help it. "Alas, too transparent as well."

He bowed his head, flashing a smile. "Then I shall have to simply accept that you will know of my dastardly plots."

"Indeed. And what is the nature of these plots exactly?"

He spread his arms wide, his expression sublime. "Why, dastardly, of course!"

Wendy closed her eyes, suddenly burning with vexation, as if a dam had broken inside her. She took a deep, calming breath, and then tried again. "Yes, but what do they involve?"

His eyes were flat as glass as he replied, "Things I desire, and things I do not." The answer had a melodic quality to it, of words said often.

She looked at him, curiosity and irritation mingling in her voice. "What things?"

He simply smiled at her, eyes still impenetrable.

Wendy closed her eyes, and took another calming breath.

_Well, you wanted a villain, after all. This is what you get. _The thought was low, and chiding, and vaguely smug.

_Yes, _agreed Wendy amiably, _but that doesn't mean I don't want to strangle said villain._

His words drifted to her, an icy caress of possibility. "So do it."

Her eyes snapped open. "What?"

"You want to attack me, do you? Do it. Let your frustration out, your violence." His voice was silky, beckoning.

A certain cold precision suffused Wendy and she eyed him and the dagger in his belt. A ragged recklessness tugged at her thoughts, but practicality finally won out. "I can't attack you. You're armed. I'm not. I'd be lost in an instant."

He smiled, diamond-hard. "Let's even the odds, then, hmmm?" He removed his dagger from his belt, and laid it aside. "No external weapons."

"But internal ones are just fine?" she snapped back cheekily.

"Yes," he said, eyes full of fire, "yes they are."

She had approximately half a moment to consider what he meant before he enveloped her from behind and held her fast.

"Let goof me," she hissed, writhing.

"But that's not how the game is played, my dear."

She jerked to the left, but his grip only tightened. "You think this is a _game_?"

"Yes," he said simply, "I do."

She stopped squirming, and became very, very still. "Well, I'm not playing it." Grumpiness radiated from her.

His grip loosened a bit at this. She took advantage of it to jam her elbow into his solar plexus, grind her heel into his in-step, and knock him off his feet.

She leaned over his supine form with a triumphant little smile. "You're right - I feel much better now. Much less frustration."

He looked at her for a moment, and then closed his eyes, laughing softly as he clutched his injured midsection. "Well done, darling girl." He breathed in and out carefully. "Come a bit closer, will you? There's something I want to tell you and it pains me currently to sit up."

She smirked a little as she lowered her ear to him. He coughed as he continued to laugh softly, and then snaked a leather-clad hand out to grip her throat.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she said nothing.

His eyes glittered with cold fire. "No one said the game was finished." He sat up with a grimace, his hand still a vise around her throat. She scooted back, hitting a large rock behind her and breathing raggedly against his grip, thoughts racing. She hit upon a nicely desperate plan involving her foot and certain of his more delicate parts.

"Now, now - I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he chided gently, maneuvering his lower body out of her foot's radius. "I don't much care for it - it seems rather unsporting."

"Well," she rasped, "what would you suggest I do, then?"

"Be cleverer."

The words stung, and wrestled her pride out from beneath the fine wail of panic that was currently covering her mind. It was a hard struggle, for the outrage and frustration were woven together with that aggravatingly omnipresent fascination with him.

She paused for a moment. Oh, well _that _ was cleverer, certainly...

She let the strange fascination well up in her, the floating wisps of curiosity and desire, that _need_ for something glittering and dark and precious, something full of struggle and sparring and ruthless intent. She let it fill her, move through her, roil around the surface of her mind like an ocean storm. And then she directed it at him.

He inhaled sharply as he let her slump to the ground.

She laid her head back against the rock, smiling and simply breathing. After a few moments, she swallowed and whispered hoarsely. "Was that clever enough for you?"

He sat down gracefully next to her, with a grimace for his injured solar plexus. "Yes, that worked quite nicely."

They sat awhile in a silence that was absurdly amiable and satisfied.

She spoke first, eyes still closed. "Will you promise me that this thing you were so viciously happy about earlier isn't to do with Peter? Or imminent doom? If so, we can avoid more hand-to-hand combat."

The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "But it was such a lovely diversion. And the truly interesting parts were your delightful mental tactics."

She smiled. "Well, you do seem to have the upper hand physically."

"But not mentally?" He clutched a hand to his heart. "Oh, you wound me to the quick, madame."

She let a small giggle escape. "A pox upon your verbal blocks." She fell serious again, and leaned her head delicately against his shoulder. "Promise me your plans are not all about Peter, Jack. Promise me, please."

He looked out across the blue and purple meadow, a warm smile floating across his lips as he raised her hand to them, and kissed it gently. "That, I can promise, my dear."

She blushed a bit at this, and let silence have its way as she enjoyed the green-growing things scent of him next to her.

At length, she spoke. "So show me another way one can fly without pixie dust, Jack. Or would you break your pact to me?"

There was decided mischief in his reply. "Such a villainous thing to do. Perhaps I should."

Wendy's response was as swift as her smile. "But then you would be breaking the rules of Perhaps, wouldn't you? Doesn't seem terribly wise."

"Too true," he acquiesced lightly. "Lightning would surely strike me on the spot."

"And it would be such a shame to ruin that nice black velvet of yours. You'd best show me."

"Indeed," he replied. He turned to look at her then. "Do you remember the silk fliers from the ball?"

Wendy arched an eyebrow. Well, they certainly _had_ been flying. And flying very, very high at that. "I believe another promise of yours involved no imminent doom scenarios for me, did it not?"

" 'Unless you count the flying without pixie dust'," Jack quoted, smiling wickedly as he stood up and extended his hand to her. "Come."

She blinked ruefully as she took his hand, and they walked past another blue and purple meadow to a copse of slender silver trees that seemed to reach endlessly to the night sky above. The lower branches of the trees seem to sprout the curious silk fliers from the ball, clad in their tight-fitting black skins. Brilliant emerald eyes blinked down at Wendy and Jack.

Among the branches hung black silk cords, long and flowing. Wendy eyed them with distinct wonder and vague wariness.

Jack, meanwhile, had been whispering steadily for some moments as a bright ball of faerie light that blazed into existence in his gloved hands. He finished the final instructions to it, and blew it gently up to the higher silver branches.

Soon after, another black-clad figure lowered down to the base of the silver trees and inclined its head to Jack. "You request a lesson with the Spreyli."

"We do."

The figure nodded sharply once, and turned its back on them to walk into the center of the silver trees. "Come, then."

Jack and Wendy followed.

For the next hour, they were instructed meticulously on the skill of silk-flying. The technique in the initial run and lift-off was generally the most difficult thing to master for non-Spreyli, apparently. Spreyli silk, fortunately, was particularly suited to the task of flying, having been crafted to effortlessly induce the speed and strength necessary to become airborne. However, as the silk was created in Perhaps, it was subject to the mental state of the fliers. Jack and Wendy were warned quite assiduously about the dangers of doubt and fear. Fliers possessed by such feelings found themselves dumped quite abruptly to the ground - from whatever their starting height. Spreyli, being light-boned and dexterous, generally recovered easily. Non-Spreyli were often not so fortunate.

Wendy attempted to squelch her previous feelings of wariness. She let the wonder of flight fill her, memories of gliding without effort with Peter through the jungle, out in the brilliant sun of the light side. Side by side, laughing, unspoken promises...

The spreyli turned suddenly towards her, measuring her. The words came clipped and precise. "Yes. That is the frame of mind required. Keep that, but without the bitterness."

Wendy, startled by this assessment, felt her thoughts freeze. When the spreyli continued to look at her (reminding her uncomfortably of her dance master's imperious stare), she began to focus on the memory of being in Jack's arms when she was taken from Reddon House. It had been free and suffused with the thrill of the unexpected.

The spreyli smiled a very pointy smile. "Yes - that. Keep that, and you will do well here."

The spreyli turned to Jack, measuring him for a moment before nodding once, curtly. "I would have expected no less from you, Lord Winterkiss."

Jack favored the spreyli with an inscrutable smile, bowing his head.

"Now fly." With this brief send off, the spreyli turned and grabbed hold of one of the silk cords hanging nearby. In an instant, the spreyli was up and out of sight in the great towering limbs of the silver trees above.

Jack turned to Wendy, offering her a cord of her own. "Shall we?"

She accepted it with a steady hand. "Do let's."

And so it began. The initial burst of speed was breath-taking, so much so that Wendy scarcely noticed when her feet left the ground. She remained opposite Jack in this circular flight, whirling through the air at equal speed. The air flowed by her, whipping her hair, kissing her face and tugging at her sleeves. This was soaring, free and wild - something she had not thought to find again outside Neverland's pixie dust. Her laughter flowed into the night, bright and molten, echoed by his.

Jack increased his speed to chase her. His eyes glowed with merriment as his fingers brushed at her shoulder, seeking to capture her. She dodged, spinning out from his grasp, still laughing.

And he dove into her, so close again - but she dipped to the right, eluding him once more. It was a game of catch-me-if-you-can that they played, feinting and arcing through the air.

Bright emerald eyes watched them with cool approval, blinking occasionally.

At last, Jack swooped into Wendy from below, embracing her from behind as they swung through the air together, turning around and around and around. Their laughter trailed behind them, sharp and fey and joyous. And that is how they remained until the momentum of the swing lessened enough to touch ground again.

On the ground, they released the cords, which lifted up and away into the silver branches. Wendy remained in Jack's arms, her thoughts quiet and content as she leaned back against him. Ah, how good it felt to be enveloped like this - so safe.

_But you're not safe, are you? Not really. And that's how you want it._

Wendy didn't bother to argue with this thought, as it was perfectly true. She did, however, take Jack's gloved hand in hers and walk out of the Spreyli trees, bowing her thanks to the green-eyed creatures as she passed.

Some distance away from the Spreyli grove, Wendy spoke, her words soft with memory. "The silk-flying - it reminds me of those fairy dancers that night with Peter..."

"Yes," said Jack softly in turn, "they were beautiful, weren't they?"

Wendy looked at him, her expression measuring. "How well do you know the Captain, Jack?" She paused, looking down, and then forged ahead. "No, no, enough of this hedging. Where _did_ you come from, Jack?"

"Ah, my darling," he smiled slyly, "you already know."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "But you could say it, you know."

"And what would you have me say?"

"That you're him. You're Hook. Somehow."

He stepped back suddenly at her words, and began to stalk around her with that irrepressible smile, circling her. "But I am very much not, as you see."

She crossed her arms and did not turn her gaze to follow him as he circled. "But you _were_, Jack. You were."

"I remember," he continued, "what the Captain knew." He was circling closer now, his chin tucked down and eyes full of cold fire as he smiled. "But I am not him."

Wendy's arms remained crossed, and she was trying with varying success to ignore how very feral he appeared, and how entranced she was by the sparking danger that surrounded him. "I notice that you didn't deny that you _were_ him. Clever Jack."

"So I didn't." Closer and closer, he moved. "Clever Wendy."

"Who are you _really_?"

"A man. The ruler of Perhaps. The Jack." He smiled as he teased, "Surely you know, since your words made me who I am."

"Into this _incarnation_ of you." Her words were impatient. "You wore the Captain like a finely tailored coat, and now you wear this role - the Jack - the same way. You've worn countless others, I'm sure."

"You think so?"

She inhaled, then exhaled, impatience mounting behind a fine veil of trepidation. Her voice was low. "Who are you really, Jack?"

"I am _really_ anyone you want me to be, Storyteller." It was a teasing mockery of her tone. And he was now within touching distance.

_Not the right question, _whispered a light, sharp voice in the back of her mind. "_What_ are you?" Her breath came in a sigh as he encircled her from behind.

The answer drifted sinuously into her ear. "_Dreams made flesh_"

"How?" she breathed, eyes closed.

She felt a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Your imagination. I've waited for it for a very long time."

She trembled only slightly beneath the kiss. "What do you want from me, really?"

Gentle, teasing silver-coin laughter . "But you know the answer to that, my Wendy - happiness."

A delicious, perfidious shudder stole through her at his use of _my Wendy._ "And what would that require exactly?"

"Don't you know?"

A wry half-smile twisted her lips as she considered this question. She recognized his manipulation of her imagination, oh yes, but she did want to answer these questions. She wanted to give the Jack his very precise answers very, very much. And so she played his game.

"Freedom is what you want. Freedom to come and go, freedom to be as you want, freedom to love and be loved..." Her words trailed off as a series of golden shimmers melted across her vision for a moment.

A delicate silence encompassed them both. He held her close to him, molding his body around hers. She felt his lips just below her ear. It was a whispered caress of words as she leaned into him, accepting him. "_Yes_."

And then they stood in the cool of the night together, looking up at the stars.

* * *

Note 1: Negotiator Tractatus Draconum Theaeque _Negotiator of the Treaty of Dragons and Tea_

Note 2: "Dreams made flesh" was stolen shamelessly from Anne Bishop's Black Jewels world, because those were the words that needed to be said.


	9. Eight: The Events of the Grand Hall

Chapter 8 - The Events of the Grand Hall

The grand hall that night was filled with the soft violet glow of the eyeball lichen. It was oddly intimate with just Wendy and Jack there in the vast emptiness. Shadows stretched into strange shapes on the walls, flickering, then gone, then back again.

The floor between the entrance to the hall and the raised dais of the throne began to ripple. Nearly imperceptibly, the mosaic shifted from solid to translucent liquid with a blue-green cast. Small waves lapped the edge of the dais.

A sudden recognition passed through Wendy. "Just like in between the portraits - the same color, the same motion..." she murmured.

_"_Yes," agreed the Jack. "This is the way mermaids use their magic to travel here." His voice was low, a voice for keeping secrets.

Wendy saw the strong, flexible muscles of the mermaid's tail a moment before the pearlescent eyes flashed beneath the waters. This creature was a hunter, dazzling and fine. Her hands sliced the water as she moved, sharp fingernails gleaming.She spared a look for Wendy as she surfaced; it was a cool look, appraising.

A thrum of recognition passed through Wendy. This was the mermaid from the portrait.

A thought, colder and more precise than the mermaid, edged at Wendy's mind. _Tell me what you see, Storyteller._

Wendy considered the mermaid then, assessing her rather dispassionately. The creature was ruthless, yes. _But she wants too much, and so she is careless. The penalty will be high, perhaps for more than one player tonight._

Wendy shuddered suddenly, blinking her eyes to dispel the alien chill in her mind.

A smile, slow and languorous, spread across Jack's lips. _As my lady wills it_.

The mermaid narrowed her eyes, suspicious of Jack's smile. But she could not sense the thoughts, did not know the silent conversation that had passed above her. She inclined her head in a convincing display of respect to address Jack. "Lord Winterkiss."

"Melisande," he returned, the word a blade in the echoing hall. His eyes glittered.

"I have brought with me a most valuable gift, my lord."

"Have you now?" His voice was politely bored, almost mocking.

Melisande's lips compressed into a small smile, and her words were a siren pulse of melody. "I have, my lord.It is a shell of most wondrous powers." The words wound up and around through the hall, stroking gently at Wendy's thoughts, teasing them into rabid curiosity._ "_It has within it the ancient songs of the merpeople, thought to have been lost to the ages." Haunting traces of notes echoed in Wendy's brain, tantalizingly half-heard. "You have only to tip it to your ear," trilled Melisande, "to hear our earliest melodies and lore." She cast her eyes down demurely, and raised the shell out of the water to display its brilliant turquoise casing. "Knowing my lord's fondness for such history, I have brought it to you."

_This Melisande is very, very good, _thought Wendy, somewhat irreverently.

_And careless_, replied Jack smoothly, a hint of hardness edging into the thought.

Out loud, he said, "How very thoughtful of you, Melisande." He made no move to take the shell, however, or to even stand up from his throne.

Melisande was undaunted - and oblivious to the deepening cold in the hall. Careless, indeed.

She fluttered her eyes at Jack, drawing temptation around her like a cloak. "Would my lord like to listen to it?"

Jack let his eyes fill with heat as he stood and went to the edge of the water, reaching down. Condescending satisfaction flickered across Melisande's face.

With a sudden, sharp movement, Jack's right hand circled Melisande's throat. He lifted her, gasping and struggling, from the water. Her nails raked ineffectually at the leather he wore, and she let the seashell slip onto the floor in front of Jack. Jack leaned into her then, seeming intimate, his voice a dagger's caress. "Ah, Melisande - conniving, cunning, treacherous Melisande. But I would expect no less of the Ravisher."

Melisande spit back a strangled reply, her eyes ancient and tired for a moment. "Older times. Forgotten times, for some of us."

Jack nodded, understanding passing between man and mermaid for a moment.

Wendy saw this and, for a moment, understood it herself. She closed her eyes, shaking her head sharply to dislodge the disorienting vision. It was double, triple vision...so many dimensions of vision, layers of Story over man and mermaid. And then it was gone, man and mermaid resolving to one vision alone.

Jack lifted his head and called out into the violet shadows. "You're welcome to come down from outside the window, Peter."

Wendy inhaled sharply at Peter's name.

"I believe," continued Jack, "that I have the upper hand tonight, and - my dear Wendy, how was it you so aptly put it? Ah yes..._the penalty will be high_." His look was predatory, triumphant, merciless.

Echoes of past betrayal thundered through Wendy's mind, as she breathed through gritted teeth. "You promised this wasn't all about Peter."

Jack inclined his head, smiling slyly. "So I did. And it's not - it merely involves him to a large extent."

Tears prickled behind Wendy's eyes as she stared at him, feeling foolish for having trusted him...for believing that she was the one he wanted this time. Why did she always trust him? He was a villain, for pity's sake!

Embarrassment and anger burned in the back of her throat.

_Patience,_ counseled a low, rumbling voice in her mind. _You wanted a villain. Let him be villainous. He will still belong to you in the end. Believe, Storyteller. _

Thinking this advice almost ridiculously idealistic, Wendy nonetheless breathed in slowly, then out, and waited.

Peter appeared in front of the dais, hovering insolently above the water. Almost ceremoniously, he stuck his tongue out at Jack.

A tolerant smile softened Jack's features for a moment; then, they crystallized into cold implacability as he turned back to Melisande. "I've known of your discontent since your kiss, Melisande. I always know." His words were low, thrumming with satisfaction. "It was only a matter of time before something like this occurred, with the help of Peter." He leaned closer then, nearly whispering. "This execution was very sloppy for you, my dear."

Those words were oddly misplaced somehow, words from another dialogue. Wendy blinked suddenly, sensing a twining of Story. It was like a play with multiple endings, all of them done in many different times and places. And Jack's words were simply an instantiation of an actor's delight at performing his favorite ending. _My turn_, they said, _my turn._

The sense of Story flooded Wendy, her vision flashing and shifting as she looked from Man to Mermaid to Boy. Layers of Story lay on the three figures, the links between Boy and Man, between Man and Mermaid tangled and strong.

And then Wendy blinked, and it was Peter and Jack and Melisande again.

Melisande hissed at Jack's admonition, glaring at him. She appeared...stung that he dare suggest her execution was sub-par, like an actor chided for a poor performance.

Jack covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her. "Now, now, my dear - you know better than to plot in open water. My sentinels have very good hearing."

Several patches of eyeball lichen around the throne room rustled smugly.

"But what," he continued, his voice low, "do you think is a suitable punishment for such flamboyant treachery, hmmm?"

Melisande's eyes narrowed as she awaited the pronouncement.

Jack touched the side of her face gently then, considering. "I think perhaps I shall give you exactly what you desire, Melisande."

Melisande's eyes widened in confusion and the first real hint of fear.

"Yes, that seems fitting." He thrust her back into the water suddenly, with a casual violence. As she gasped for breath, he passed judgment. "I release the power you gave to me back to you alone, Melisande. I can well support portrait travel without your contribution. You will be as you were."

Melisande stared at Jack, disbelieving. Mercy was not a trait Jack was known for - not if he wanted to keep ruling Perhaps. Such a weakness could be quite exploitable if it was known to the right forces...

Jack smiled then, a brutal thing of winter and ice. A ball of faerie light had formed in his palm. "Alone among all the mermaids with all your power. In fact, all alone." He threw the ball of faerie light at her suddenly; it merged with her body as he finished his pronouncement. "I banish you from Perhaps, Melisande. Seek your fortune in other waters."

Melisande's mouth dropped open in shock as her form began to shimmer and fade. "You can't do this...you wouldn't..."

Abject satisfaction flashed in Jack's eyes. "I believe I just did."

She was little more than mermaid-shaped mist now, her eyes brimming with something almost like betrayal, her voice light as a sea breeze. "Curse you...Jack..."

And then she was gone, shunted from Perhaps. The blue-green waters solidified back into the floor of the grand hall, the shining stones of the mosaic gleaming in the dim violet light.

Jack looked at where she had been for a moment, contemplative. "Until we meet again, Mermaid."

Wendy watched him in silence, knowing there was much more going on, so much that had gone on already between Jack and Melisande that she didn't know. So much Story...and then there was Peter-

Peter, who had swooped down to retrieve the turquoise seashell from the floor and was just now launching it at the still form of Jack with deadly accurate aim.

Wendy, bemused, watched Jack neatly sidestep it.

"A little predictable, Peter, don't you think?" Jack's words were airy, taunting.

The seashell's trajectory put it directly in front of Wendy, and so she moved to catch it.

"Wendy - no!" cried Peter sharply.

The seashell landed heavily in her hands. It was dazzling, a thing of beauty and magic. And apparently something Peter didn't want her to touch...but why?

At precisely this moment, however, Melisande's magic began to wear off with the lack of her presence in Perhaps. The illusion cracked and faltered, and Wendy was overwhelmed by the smell of the vile contents of the shell. Gagging, she let it drop from her hands.

"Here," said the Jack, "I know a good place for that." He deftly threw a ball of faerie light at the seashell, and it vanished with a slight pop.

Peter looked at Tink. "Did you know he knew about the seashell?"

Tink shrugged and flickered ambivalently.

"But that's not fair!"

Tink rolled her eyes and pulled on his hair, fluttering impatiently.

Peter shrugged her off, livid. "No, I will _not_ just leave, Tink! He knew we were coming, he knew about our trap, he knew everything! It's not fair!"

Tink sighed. She knew what would come next. All this fuss over that stupid Wendy-girl...

Peter dove after Jack, sword in hand, yelling, "You cannot have Wendy, Jack Winterkiss!" A dark memory surfaced of nearly losing Wendy before, and Peter's face flushed with resolve. "You will not take her from me."

Jack countered Peter's attack and dodged around a pillar. "Is that not for her to decide, Boy? Perhaps you should ask your fair Wendy who she wants."

Jack's words hit their mark, ruthlessly hooking Peter's attention. Peter turned suddenly to Wendy, his face suffused with horrible uncertainty. "You want me, don't you, Wendy?"

The ensuing silence was a heavy thing, suffocating.

Finally, Wendy spoke. "It's complicated, Peter. I-"

"It's not complicated!" His eyes glistened with feverish disbelief. "Would you choose him over me?"

Wendy swallowed hard. "I...I think I might."

He went very still then, frozen with incomprehension. "But...why?"

Wendy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, searching for the way to explain. "I...find you lacking in certain things I think I need now, Peter."

"Lacking?" His eyes narrowed in anger, as memories of the past became clearer. His voice was low, strangled. "You mean _deficient_." He spat the word out, a vile accusation. "How am I _deficient _now, Wendy? How?! I can fight. I can fly. I can _feel_. Isn't that what you wanted?" The incomprehension was draining his force, dropping his voice to a whisper. "We had so much fun together...why...why would you..." he nearly choked on the words, "leave me for the enemy?"

The agony of Peter's pain ripped through Wendy as she replied softly, "This isn't about enemies, Peter. Things are not so black and white as that."

"Yes they are! Of course they are! He," said Peter, gesturing violently at Jack, "is the enemy."

Wendy swallowed hard, trying to keep her tears from spilling. "Not for me. Not anymore."

Peter stared hard at her, his face collapsing into ragged despair. He looked down, wiping hot tears away. Then, he held his sword in from of him, aimed at Wendy. His voice was soft, trembling. "You traitor." A very nasty memory surfaced suddenly. "You _pirate._"

Stung by Peter's words, Wendy shouted, "The world is not just pirates and boys, Peter!"

"Yes," interjected Jack smoothly as he interceded between Wendy and Peter's sword, "there are mermaids, too."

Wendy glanced at him, her lips pressed together in frustration. "Stop helping," she muttered.

He smiled, bowing his head in apology. "As my lady wills it."

"And you can stop saying that so smugly, too."

Jack's expression was decidedly amused, but he said no more.

Wendy gazed at the golden Boy hovering unevenly before her with his sword defiantly in front, heartbreak driving him to the ground. A last ember of innocent love flared inside her. She had felt so much for him...but he really wasn't what she needed anymore. "Peter, please - don't do this. You don't need me." The truth of those words quenched the romantic idealism inside her. Anger and disappointment she hadn't realized she had buried came to the fore. "You don't even want me anymore! Not really. I'm...I'm too _grown up_ for you."

Harsh accusation flamed in Peter's eyes. "You gave me your thimble!"

"But _you don't want me anymore_! You never came! Not once, Peter!" Bitterness darkened her words. "And I don't see things the way you do, not anymore. My Let's Pretend has complications, Peter, and contradictions." She took a deep breath. "And I _like_ it that way."

Crippling confusion and disbelief roiled through Peter, tears streaming down his face once more. "I don't understand. How could you choose him, Wendy? _Him!_"

Wendy closed her eyes and sighed softly, a thing of lost dreams. "I need you to be my boy of sunlight and forest, Peter. But I can no longer be just the sunlight and forest with you."

The loneliness and loss that blazed from Peter's eyes was wrenching. "Then you are not my Wendy." He spoke slowly and quietly, measuring his words, almost fearing them. "My Wendy is dead. And you are the grown up traitor that has killed her." He bared his teeth in a battle grimace. "So you can die, too!"

He burst forward in a dazzling display of speed, his sword aimed for Wendy's heart.

Jack, fortunately for Wendy, was faster than Peter. He grasped Wendy by the shoulders and spun her out of the sword's way. Catching her by the hand, he ran with her away from the dais, down to the mosaic. Peter swept after them with a cry of rage. The mosaic glowed suddenly, and with a slight rushing feeling, Wendy found herself alone with Jack in a spherical, crystalline room.

The floor of the room showed the grand hall, now empty but for a very frightened Tink and a ferocious, howling, weeping Peter. Peter was pounding at the mosaic in the floor, his hands bloody, his screams unearthly. But he could not follow. Entry to the spherical room of the Jack's Perhaps was denied to him, the Boy hero of Neverland.

The eyeball lichen's light was a feral red. They were afraid of him, and for him. The Boy should not feel these things, could not - not and retain his vital innocence.

Wendy was motionless, watching Peter from inside the spherical room. Any moment now, a horribly violent shudder was going to ravage her and leave her sobbing in a heap on the floor. She decided, quite sensibly, to try and delay that as long as possible.

Her voice was very quiet when she spoke, and she did not look at Jack. "So did everything work out as you planned it, then?"

"Nearly so." Jack's voice was velvet against her, wrapping around her, warming her.

"Mmmm," she said, her voice still flat and disconnected. "And what remains, then?"

"There is the small matter of the anything you owe me."

She tore her eyes from Peter in the grand hall. "I see." Her hand began to tremble. "And what might that be, then?" The shudder was brewing now, a torrential storm of loss behind it.

His words were soft, his winter-star eyes glowing with this long-awaited request. "Relegate Peter to his jungles and leave childish simplicity behind you, beneath you. Let him remain in Neverland as its sole anchor and let me roam free with you. Love and be loved in return, Wendy. _Make it so_ _because you want it to be so._"

The world stopped for Wendy. Heartbeats passed, each a small eternity.

It was true, of course. All of it, all of what Jack had said. His persuasion had been quite complete over the time she'd been in Perhaps. He was a master tactician, a clever manipulator, a villain extraordinaire - and he was _right_. It was high time to free him from the boundaries of Perhaps...

_And this is about me. Not Peter - me! He wants __**me.**_

She held that thought, letting it soak through her, letting it draw out the poisonous self-hatred that loomed behind the agonizing shudder inside her.

Slowly, the shudder coalesced, transformed. It was a fiery pulse in her chest, building, cresting, bursting out of her in a jagged golden shimmer.

And it was done.

The grand hall was empty, the lichen's light violet once more.

On the light side, the sun shone on the steamy jungles and clear waters. A Boy and his fairy drifted along, blissfully unaware that anything existed beyond the Black Castle.

Wendy suddenly collapsed onto the shining white floor of the spherical room. Jack moved to sit behind her, close enough to let her touch him for comfort if she wanted. She was quite still for some moments. Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and buried her head against his chest, her body wracking with violent spasms.

He stroked her hair, murmuring comforting words as she wept, and held her.

At length, her sobs subsided and she shook only slightly. Jack looked down at a particularly odd spasm and saw that she was laughing weakly. He raised an eyebrow.

Her voice was tired as she answered his look. "So you like my stories, too, do you?"

His silver-coin laughter drifted over them both. "That I do, Wendy. Very, very much."

"Good." And with that, she fell asleep in his arms.

When Wendy awoke, far calmer and collected than she had felt since arriving in Perhaps, they re-entered the grand hall through the mosaic.

"I was wondering, Mistress Storyteller," said Jack, as they stood in the center of the mosaic, "if you would do me the honor of a dance?"

The music began to drift through the hall softly, music from the fairy dance that night with Peter and Hook so long ago - all airy pipes and lilting tones of the harp.

Wendy smiled wryly, admiring how cleverly orchestrated the Jack's plan had been. "Perhaps, Master Manipulator, perhaps."

"A pity to waste a lovely viennese waltz such as this. And besides, what choice would you make, if not to dance with me?"

Wendy appeared thoughtful. "I could conceivably toss myself from the nearest parapet in a thoroughly romantic suicide attempt. It could be quite a grisly end."

"It could be, indeed," agreed Jack, mirroring her thoughtful mien. "Such a shame to lose a magnificent Storyteller as yourself, however."

"What would happen then, Jack? After I was gone?"

He blinked slowly, and did not answer.

"What would happen, Jack?"

Silence billowed around them both.

"Would you cease to exist, perhaps?" Her words were soft, pained. "If I am your only source, that might be true. But I highly doubt that is true." She looked at him, considering him. "You were here before me, and you'll surely continue to be here once I'm gone."

His reply was soft. "But not like this." He took her right hand in his left. "Dance with me, Wendy."

She resisted, looking at the leather-clad hands. "Take off your gloves."

He paused, an eyebrow raised. "What will you give me in return?"

Wendy's smile was bittersweet. "A thimble."

Jack's smile shone bright, full of secrets. "So pacted."

He removed his gloves and took her hand in his.

The touch of his skin burned like cold fire - but then it was gone. And what remained was the warm press of palm to palm, the green growing things and moon scent washing over and through her.

Wendy looked into Jack's winter-star eyes, and then, quite solemnly, she gave him his thimble.

Fortunately for the amusement of the eyeball lichen, the thimble didn't remain solemn for very long. Beyond the Enchanted Forest, the Spreyli smiled; in the courtyard, the gwyndilons rumbled their approval.

The foundation of Perhaps was now stable. The Jack had done very well, indeed.

* * *

Author's Note: _Ran: Norse goddess of the drowned, called the Ravisher._

Also, the story is not quite done. It turned out there was a bit more story to tell after all.


	10. Nine: The Ties That Bind

Chapter Nine - The Ties That Bind

After leaving the grand hall, Jack and Wendy retired to Jack's receiving room with goblets of pomegranate juice in hand. A decidedly cheery fire flickered in the hearth, and they reclined next to each other on the black velvet couch.

Wendy sipped at her pomegranate juice, and then set it aside as she leaned her head against Jack's shoulder. "I suppose," she said, with something of a sigh, "that I really ought to go back to Reddon House at some point."

Jack smiled with a hint of mischief, idly running his hand through her hair. "Ought you? Such a pity to turn you into a proper young lady."

Wendy smiled wryly in response. "True - but they'll miss me eventually. As will my family, of course."

"Not if you don't want them to."

Wendy glanced up at him. "What do you mean?"

His breath was a caressing warmth against the top of her head. "Memories fade, Wendy. Unless upheld with particular care."

"Granted," she conceded, "but I've only been away for a day or so." She nestled further against him, looking back into the fire. "Surely it takes longer than that for the memory of one's schoolmate, sister, or daughter to fade. Or to even become a memory."

Jack was silent, and Wendy felt the secret hiding beneath it.

She looked up at him, tension beginning to whisper through her. "What is it, Jack?"

His voice was silky smooth as he continued to stroke her hair. "Time does not pass the same way here as there, darling."

The muscles of Wendy's shoulders tightened at the implications of his words. "How long have I been away from there, Jack?"

Jack remained silent, his hands moving gently to her shoulders. Though he began to massage her shoulders, Wendy couldn't help but think that this put him at a distinct advantage for a fight. Coldness rippled through her.

"How long has it been over there, Jack?"

His words were as slippery and impenetrable as glass. "A day here could be but a moment there...or a century."

"You're dodging." Her voice was far sharper than she had intended it to be. She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out. "How long has it been, Jack?"

Jack's voice was a floating thing, rolling over the edges of her thoughts. "About a year or so."

Wendy froze. And then blinked. And then thought very, very hard for a few moments.

"How long," she asked finally, "was it here from when I left Neverland to when I returned to Perhaps?"

Jack was silent again, but she could feel the satisfaction radiating from him. He was pleased - and almost anticipatory.

An unfamiliar icy rage began to move in Wendy's blood. She strained forward to get away from him, to stop touching him - but his hands held her too firmly. She would remain against him until he decided to release her.

The thought of it enraged her further, and a clenching need arose in her to soundly throttle something. "How long," she said far too calmly, "was it here?"

He still did not answer.

She struggled to move forward, again to no avail - his grip was strong. The need to soundly throttle something was easily sharpening to a need to soundly throttle Jack. "How long," she said, eyes blazing, "was it for Peter?"

"Mmmm..." he replied with mock thoughtfulness, "I should say five days, give or take."

Wendy closed her eyes, quivering with anger and a dark shame. "_Five days. _ Years for me, but to him...five days." Her voice dropped low, almost hissing. "I exiled Peter, shunted him from me for not coming to see me for _five days_?"

"Well, that," replied Jack with cavalier diplomacy, "and you seem to be quite convinced at the time that his innocence and simplicity no longer suited you."

Bitter tears filled Wendy's eyes.

"Besides," continued Jack airily, "it's not as if Peter would have remembered, anyway, after a time. The Boy is of a peculiarly forgetful nature." He leaned close to her ear, his soft words ripping deep. "That you survived in his memory for five days is a testament to the feelings he must have had for you."

Wendy stared at him, motionless. "You...you..."

"Villain?" suggested Jack amiably. "Yes, I believe I am." He smiled coolly. "As requested."

Wendy's fists clenched so tight that her fingernails drew blood. The sting of it didn't faze her in the least, or crack the black anger that surged within her. If anything, it seemed to feed it.

In the courtyard, the gwyndilons waited, biding their time. Ermenth had cautioned patience with this girl, and patience they would have.

Wendy closed her eyes, body rigid, fingernails digging further into the flesh of her palms. She was awash in a storm of truly extraordinary feeling, lost in the rage and the shame and the loathing. She didn't even notice Jack had moved until he was looking down on her, his face close enough to kiss. He held her arms behind her head, pushing against the black velvet. The blood of her palms dripped lazily down her wrists and along his fingers. She began to writhe against his grip, and a thoroughly inhuman snarl escaped her. It shocked her for a moment, and allowed her to think.

"Let go of me, Jack Winterkiss." Her words were clipped, smoldering, ferocious.

His smile was a brutal thing, his eyes sparking, his voice purring. "But don't you want your vengeance, darling? Don't you want," he breathed against her, "to hurt me as I've hurt you?" His lips brushed across her forehead. "Don't you?"

His words were a thudding rhythm behind her eyes.

The Spreyli of the forest listened, and waited, green eyes flashing.

_Give in to it. _

For one shimmering moment, Wendy wavered, hesitated. And in that moment, the darkness crested and flowed within her, sharp as dagger points.

In the forest, the Spreyli smiled knowingly.

Wendy's eyes snapped open as she viciously jammed her knee against the side of Jack's thigh, forcing him to stumble. It was a skilled motion, executed with inhuman grace, and Wendy used her advantage to wrench an arm loose and aim an elbow at his throat.

He recovered too quickly for the elbow to reach its intended target, and it landed instead in his stomach. Letting out a grunt of air, he grasped her right leg, immobilizing it.

She grabbed his other wrist, leaving blood trails across his skin, and twisted it into a wretchedly awkward position, forcing his body to twist with it or break the wrist bones. His left side was now exposed, and she gave it a wicked kick with her free leg.

His hands spasmed open, freeing her, and he fell to the ground.

She was on top of him with a deep growl, her forearm jammed beneath his chin, restricting his air flow. _Do you yield?_

He coughed, struggling to inhale.

_My, my, but someone knows how to fight dirty. This explains much about the attraction to a pirate._

Her eyes flared as she slapped him hard across the side of the face with the hand that had been against his throat.

He took advantage of this to topple her from him, tangle her legs in his, and thoroughly pin her. With both her hands clamped in one of his, he delicately explored the red stinging mark she had left on his face. He lifted an eyebrow in approval. "A good mark - well done."

She seethed beneath him, her eyes flashing. "I'll be happy to provide more."

A feral grin played across his lips as he leaned close to her. "Of course you will, my beauty." His voice was low, caressing. "But I think it's my turn first."

A thrill of fear spasmed in Wendy's chest, alongside a rather chilling anticipation. Jack's breath was hot against the side of her neck, as if scenting her. With a sudden movement, he sank his teeth into the flesh of her neck. The pain was a concentrated explosion, a physical mirror of the mental agony of her realization about Peter. She screamed beneath him, her hands tracing blood across him, losing herself in the stultifying feeling of release.

And then, with an extraordinarily delicate kiss like breeze against her skin, he withdrew.

She lay quiet against the ground, feeling (quite absurdly and rather embarrassingly) better. But not all the way better. Not quite. There was something unfinished inside her, something that still needed...release.

She watched as he brought her bloody palms to his lips and kissed them. Something about the gesture fired her further, left her edgy with the echoes of her rage. Something was... incomplete.

Jack looked down at her, waiting, observing. Almost passive.

The gwyndilons decided this was their moment. They offered what they had to give.

And, unconsciously, Wendy accepted it.

She let a sudden unfamiliar burning cold sear her thoughts, let its darkness guide her. With a strength she didn't remember possessing, she threw him off of her and against the wall. Almost instantly, she was pressed against him, forcing him down.

He looked up at her with quiet expectation, still waiting, still watching.

One hand tore open his shirt, exposing the long expanse of chest. With a single graceful motion, she raked nails down the skin. Blood blossomed instantly in the wounds as he arched his back into her hand, his eyes closed. She pressed a finger to one slash, catching some of the blood, and then raised it to her lips.

The shock of the coppery taste startled her from her trance. She stared at the blood on her finger, then at the red gashes down his pale chest.

Her pulse began to race, horror crawling through her.

She backed away from him, almost falling in her haste to distance herself from what she had just done. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."

His smile had a lazy, satisfied look to it. "Yes, you did. You most certainly did."

"No...no..." she stammered, "I wanted _something_, but this is...this is..."

"Not wrong," finished the Jack with a comforting ease.

She stared at him.

"Don't you feel better?"

She thought about this, trying to push past the throb that was beginning behind her left eye. "But...your blood...I don't even know why I did that..."

He shifted against the ground, righting himself with very slow, very careful movements. "Well, it's a little more violent than a standard blood pact requires, but it will do all the same."

"What?!" The word escaped Wendy in an exhalation.

"You've just bound me a little closer to you." He touched one of the slashes, and winced slightly. "In payment for a wrong I have done you."

She blinked, and sat down somewhat heavily on the couch. "What does that mean exactly?"

"What do you think it means?" His voice was carefully casual.

"Oh, stop it," snapped Wendy, the memory of her rage surfacing for a moment. "It's not like I need to create this for you - it's already _done_, for pity's sake."

He continued to look at her with an unnerving intensity. "But it's not sharpened, not filled in all the way." A wolfish smile appeared. "It's...incomplete."

Mortification reddened Wendy's cheeks for a moment. So much for the vague hope that she hadn't been broadcasting her thoughts during that little episode. "Well, I haven't the faintest idea what to do with it."

Jack adopted a chiding, teasing tone. "Come, come...surely there's something inside of you that tells you what this blood pact means."

Wendy blinked at him, feeling quite obstinate. "I'm open to suggestions."

Jack smiled, a sudden flash of brilliance, as if she had just said her lines flawlessly. "Are you really? Then perhaps you should listen a little more carefully."

"What-"

He cut her off. "Shhh," he murmured, putting a finger to his lips, "can't you hear them?"

And then she did. The gwyndilons and the Spreyli, whispers in the back of her mind. It was a curious mixture of savageness and cunning, brute strength and agile maneuvering. But they were definitely the gwyndilons and the Spreyli, and they were also quite definitely speaking to her.

_You have taken from him some of his essence - and you gain an affinity for his magic until this binding between you is broken._

Wendy took a deep breath, and let it out._ And what does he get from me?_

_A little of your imagination. A very precious commodity here, as you know._

Wendy snorted. _Sounds to me like he got what he wanted, as usual. What does he need me for then?_

Their laughter was an odd blending of the deep grating of the gwyndilons and the ringing hiss of the Spreyli. _There's more to this Story than you think, girl. Why don't you ask him yourself? _

Wendy rolled her eyes at the suggestion. _Of course. Because he's so very likely to just tell me._

_Ask the right way, _came the reply, _and he'll tell you. His affinity is for manipulation has become yours as well. Think on it, Storyteller._

Wendy raised a contemplative eyebrow, and turned her attention back to Jack. "I probably don't want to know how it is that I'm hearing them, do I?"

Jack's smile was a secretive thing. "It's up to you."

"Could you hear them just now?"

A flash of something cold flashed across Jack's face for a moment.

Wendy nodded, abstractly amused at his irritation. "So you couldn't, then. But you knew they would be speaking to me, then. How?"

Jack gave an elegant shrug. "You accepted their gift. It's a binding as well."

"One that you don't have." A small smile played on Wendy's lips at the thought.

"One that I don't share with you," corrected Jack with a small smile of his own. "Which is not to say that I don't have my own binding with them."

"Mmm," said Wendy, with some disappointment. Then, she rested her chin on her hand as she began to think, wincing at the sting of her palm. "But what gift of theirs did I accept?" And then, in a lower voice, "And what did I give to them?"

The dark, rolling taste of their presence billowed in the back of her mind for a moment. It was familiar somehow, and then Wendy suddenly remembered the alien feel of the rage that had run through her such a short time ago, and with it, the strength and agility. "Ah," she said, with some resignation. "That would likely be their gift. But what did I give to them?"

"Why don't you ask them?"

Not a bad plan, that. She attempted to direct a stream of thought at the sinuous presence in the back of her mind. _Do you hear me? What did you gain from me?_

Wendy was suddenly flooded with an image of Neverland and Perhaps aglow with lines and webs. There were clusters of accentuated brilliance at various points. Her chest tightened as she saw Peter anchoring the main web of Neverland. With a surge of will, she turned the viewpoint to Perhaps. The Spreyli and gwyndilons were each a pocket of brilliance amidst the gentle glow of the threads criss-crossing Perhaps. A surprisingly bright point in the web was the accursed crocodile, a fact she tucked away for later reference. The brightest point of all was comprised of the line between Jack and Wendy, and the gwyndilons and Spreyli had direct connections to the center of this line.

_You know, you could have just said I'm your anchor._

_But you're not, Storyteller. _

_Fine,_ retorted Wendy somewhat bitterly, _Jack and I are your anchors now._

_Still wrong, Storyteller._

Wendy had a silent moment of exasperation. _Then what was it that you just showed me?_

_That you fuel us. Not anchor us._

Wendy closed her eyes briefly. _And the difference between fuel and anchor?_

_Freedom._

_Dicing it a bit finely, aren't we? You still depend on me. On us._

_But we will survive without you, if necessary. You make it easier on us by far, but we do not depend on you alone. Nor the Jack. Not anymore._

Wendy considered this, somewhat grumpily. _Well, bully for you, then._

Gentle chuckling followed her out of her musings.

"So then," she said, looking at Jack, "it looks as if I've been cleverly woven into the fabric of Perhaps without destroying your precious freedom. And conveniently tied to you to do it." She pressed her palms against her eyes, and then winced again at the sting. "Just perfect. Just bloody perfect."

He laughed gently as he stood, inhaling sharply when the cloth of his shirt ran across one of the chest wounds.

Wendy looked up suddenly, and blushed again, silently cursing the tell-tale shame that flooded her when she thought of her actions with Jack.

"There is no need for shame, Wendy. A blood pact made in this way is a powerful pact, indeed." The words were oddly comforting, drops of coolness on her burning skin. She could have sworn there was a flash for a moment, as if the world had tinged ice blue. And then the shame left her, swirling away into oblivion as if it had never been.

She made a wry face as realization hit. "Using your borrowed abilities already, are you?"

His smile had a certain puckish cast to it. "Perhaps. But certainly for your betterment. Unless you'd prefer to be mauled by an appalled sense of conscience every time you look at me?"

His words teased a smile from Wendy at last. "No, I think I'd rather pass on the particular opportunity, thanks all the same." A rather troubling thought pierced her suddenly. "How much more influence over me do you have because of this blood pact?"

He cast his eyes down for a moment, then looked back up at her. "It depends."

Wendy gave a little mental snort. "Of course it does. But on what?"

"And why exactly should I tell you?"

She stared at him levelly, considering how best to woo the information from him. At last, an idea struck. Keeping her voice low and conversational, she said, "Because otherwise I'll concoct a thoroughly vile story that involves the unfortunate and spontaneous appearance of snake goblin droppings on whatever chair you should chance to sit on for the next seven years."

His surprised burst of laughter was exactly what she had hoped for. "Ah," he managed finally, "I see. A most unfortunate state of affairs."

"Exactly," she replied, smiling a bit. "So you had best tell me what you know."

He raised an eyebrow, still laughing softly. "Mmm. Well then, let's just say that I have as much as influence as you let me have."

Wendy's immediate exasperation was infiltrated by a spectacular thread of mischief, and she gave it free rein. Affecting a mockery of a deep, penetrating voice, she slowly held up her hand next to her as if it were a puppet, opening and closing it as she spoke. "_I can only do as much as you let me do, Storyteller. Except I'm a conniving and thoroughly effective manipulator, so I can convince you to let me do quite a lot of things. Also, I like your stories. Other favorite pastimes include teasing you by withholding information, allying with the Spreyli and gwyndilons to bind you here further, and drinking tea with the dragons in the Enchanted Forest. Except when they hog the sugar, the scaly cretins. I really hate that."_

Jack struggled valiantly to keep a straight face throughout the mimicry. Irritated amusement at her antics transformed to a vague pique of interest when the dragons were mentioned. The "scaly cretins" epithet, however, undid him. Another burst of silvery laughter came from him as he staggered to the velvet couch and sat down next to her. Though each laugh obviously pained him, he shook silently for quite a few more moments.

At last, he lifted his head and an irrepressible mirth glowed through him. "I fear, Wendy, that you are the one who may have more influence over me now."

"Mmm," replied Wendy, smiling with a touch of triumph. "Good to know. I'd hate to be on unequal footing just because of a little blood pact." She raised a hand to gingerly explore the side of her neck. "How long does this blood pact last, anyway?"

"Until you're satisfied I've repaid you, I imagine."

She glanced sharply at him. "You imagine? You don't know?"

"No," he replied, with an enigmatic look. "I merely imagine."

"That's just...unsettling." She looked quite disgruntled, and her mood was not improved by the growing ache of her neck.

He laughed softly. "Perhaps. But I am not unsettled. Blood magic is an old thing, a wild thing. It is not easily demarcated." His eyes followed her hands as they traced along the line of her neck, exploring. "But it gives great power."

"So we're bound by an unpredictable, immensely potent force?"

"Yes."

"Lovely," she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back against the couch. "Just lovely. Good planning all around." She winced again as her neck touched the couch.

"That could use a good rub, I'm sure."

"Yes," she replied ruefully, "it could." She turned her head to survey him. "I have no idea what to offer for your chest, I'm afraid."

He slid a finger along one of the slashes, watching her eyes follow it. "That will heal in due time. In the meanwhile, I shall bear your marks as part of my payment to you."

"That is..." she closed her eyes again, trying to feel the correct word for her current reaction, "...quite satisfactory." She opened her eyes, and looked at Jack, her gaze again drawn shamelessly to the bloody marks on him. "Though I haven't the faintest idea why."

A wicked smile curved his lips. "Blood magic is a wild thing."

"Hrmph," she replied succinctly, beginning to knead the muscles of her neck with her right hand.

"Here," he said, turning to her, "let me help you."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not entirely sure I want you touching me at this moment."

He was closer now, his voice a velvet caress along her spine. "Then let me help change your mind."

A resigned expression crossed Wendy's face as she allowed him to do so. "So much for subtle innuendo."

"Indeed," he replied smoothly, as his fingers began a deft exploration of the muscles of her neck. She sighed suddenly as he worked over a very rigid spot, fingertips dancing near the bite marks. But he let them be, focusing instead on the surrounding muscles of shoulders and neck with a graceful precision. As he touched her, she felt the tension drift from her, sliding away as the shame had done earlier.

After several moments, she opened her eyes to look at him. "How is it that you're so skilled at this?"

He smiled down at her.

"Wait - don't tell me," she said, as she closed her eyes again, "because I believe you should be. Most convenient."

His amusement was a sparkling warmth in his words. "No credit for my innate abilities?"

Wendy didn't even bother to open her eyes this time. "I'd make a nicely witty remark, but I'm far too relaxed to bother. So just imagine that I did."

Soft laughter answered her. "So imagined."

After several more thoroughly relaxed moments, Wendy raised a hand to touch Jack's and still his movements. "Thank you, Jack, I think that's enough. Any more, and I shall surely become a puddle."

"A most unfortunate state, I'm sure."

She smiled lazily, her eyes still closed. "Have you ever tried to get a puddle to tell you stories? A very trying business."

"Ah," replied Jack with mock-seriousness, "then it is a state best avoided."

"Quite." She opened her eyes then, and surveyed his chest wounds once more. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Jack's smile was more than a little wicked. "So much for subtle innuendo."

"Oh, hush." A very faint blush touched the sides of Wendy's face. "We need to clean the blood off, at least."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Do we really?"

"Well," said Wendy diplomatically, "we could always let the blood drip everywhere and get our various wounds infected, of course. Brilliant planning, really."

He laughed at her dry tone. "Are you still dripping blood, then?"

Wendy blinked, and looked down at her hands. "Apparently not. Actually," she continued, examining her palms with some bemusement, "I seem to be healing at a remarkable rate." The bloody half-moons in her palms were nearly closed now. She glanced back up at the slashes down Jack's chest and saw that they, too, were smaller than they had been, though still quite ostentatious. She turned her attention back to her palms and saw that the skin had knit together completely. "Your doing?"

His eyes sparkled. "A side effect of the blood pact."

Her eyes remained fixed on her palms as she held them up to the light. "You have healing abilities that I'm borrowing?"

"How do you think your wounds from Pintzer were healed when you first arrived?"

She looked up sharply at him. "But we didn't have a blood pact, then."

An inscrutable look passed across his face as he leaned backwards, gracefully resting his arms behind his head. "True."

Wendy sighed mentally as she leaned back next to him. "So why was I able to heal then?"

He looked at her, his face carefully blank. "What would you like me to say, Wendy?"

"Well," she replied blithely, "the entire story might be nice."

"Ah, but I can't tell you that, my dear," he said, with a teasing smile, " for I don't know the entire story yet."

Wendy resisted the urge to thwack him across the ribs. "I'll settle for the entire story involving your link to me before our little blood pact."

He blinked with an air of innocence. "And what link would that be?"

A curl of irritation flared inside Wendy. This line of inquiry obviously wasn't getting anywhere.

_Be more clever. Use what you have gained._

Wendy conceded that this was fairly good advice. And, after a few moments of thought, she converged on a more clever plan. In tones of most ominous sincerity, she addressed Jack. "You realize what this means, of course."

He was on guard effortlessly, ready to spar. "Do tell, Mistress Storyteller."

With a swift, sinuous motion, she had both hands across his shoulders and had twisted him around so his back was to her. It was the very same position he had placed her in before the blood pact, and she felt the sudden tightening through his muscles with an acute satisfaction. She leaned in, her lips moving just above his neck. "I must entice it from you, Jack Winterkiss." And with that, she began to gently press the muscles of his shoulders.

A surprised burst of silvery laughter accompanied her pronouncement as Jack relaxed beneath her touch. "Ah, merciful heaven, whatever shall I do?"

She flashed a mischievous grin. "Just submit...and tell me what you know."

"Mmmm," replied Jack, stretching into her touch, "and what exactly would you like to hear?"

"You could start with the details of my original link to you."

"Of course," replied Jack dryly, as he slipped lower on the couch, "something quite simple and easy to explain. And once that's out of the way?"

A small smile spread across Wendy's lips as she rubbed his neck. "Then we'll move on to my current situation."

"I see," said Jack. "Could I trouble you to rub a little to the left? - ah, yes. There." His eyes closed as he smiled. "That's delightful."

Several moments passed, as Wendy's fingers worked against Jack's skin. She wondered briefly how exactly _she_ had become so adept at massaging and why she wasn't embarrassed about it in the slightest. In the back of her mind, whispers of _Blood Pact_ coalesced.

_Of course - it seems to be the answer to everything right now. Why am I surprised?_

_Yes,_ came Jack's softly teasing echo, _why are you surprised, Wendy?_

She ran her fingers delicately through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "So?"

"Mmm?" replied Jack, sounding rather drowsy.

"Start talking, Jack Winterkiss." She stroked his hair, with the barest hint of nails. "Let's hear a story."

One winter star eye cracked open to survey her. "Well," he began with a smile, "once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl with a marvelous gift of storytelling. She was quite a dazzling creature, I must say, with a definitive sparkle in her eyes and a hidden kiss at the corner of her mouth."

With a sudden, darting movement, Wendy pressed a finger to Jack's lips. "You may skip," she said simply, "the prologue."

He looked at her then, measuring her for a moment.

She returned his gaze calmly, removing her finger but keeping her other hand entangled in his hair.

A wicked smile appeared on his face. "You're the storyteller - why don't you tell me what happens next?"

Her fingers tightened their grip around his hair. "Now, now," she chided, "none of that. We had an agreement."

"Did we?" he replied smoothly. "I remember no pact."

"I see," she said, casting her eyes down. Then, with casual precision, she pulled her hand back, causing his head to bend towards her at what would soon be a very awkward angle indeed.

He felt her pulse begin to race at her bold maneuver. _Little Wendy - who knew you had it in you, hmmm?_ He pulled against her hand, letting a sigh of pleasure of escape him as his head bent further.

Wendy froze.

His eyes flashed, his voice a suggestive taunt. "Don't start something you don't want to finish, darling."

She snatched her hand away from him, crossing her arms in a sudden fit of discomfiture, and refused to look at him. "You, sir, are thoroughly exasperating."

"And you, madame, are entirely too trusting. Besides," he said, smiling as he turned to face her, "I need to keep some secrets of my own."

She closed her eyes briefly and took a nice, deep breath. "So what exactly will you tell me?"

He gave an elegant shrug. "It all depends on what you'll give me in return."

Resignation crawled through her again as she looked pointedly at her hands. "What do you want?"

He reached across to lift her chin up, forcing her eyes to look into his. "That, my dear, is for you to discover."

She jerked away, frustrated by his lack of answers and grudgingly appreciative of the artful way in which he wasn't giving them.

"I think," she said at last, "that it may be time for another hand puppet parody."

His eyes sparkled jovially. "I see. Do your worst."

"Alas," she threw up her hands in comic exaggeration as she reclined into the couch, "for you'll be expecting it now. The effect is quite negated already."

"Such a pity," replied Jack, reclining next to her.

And so they remained for several long moments.

When Wendy spoke again, her voice was serious, tired, almost pleading. "Jack?"

Winter star eyes focused on her, appraising. "Yes?"

"What do I do now?"

She felt his hand close over hers gently before he spoke. "Stay here with me. Tell your stories and continue to create this world - make it lush beyond imagination."

She sighed softly. "Tempting words."

"That's the general idea."

She placed her hand to her forehead, covering her eyes. "Just tell me one thing, Jack Winterkiss - why do you need me to create this world for you?"

"Your imag-"

"No," she cut him off. "Spare me the standard answer. You have my imaginative powers through our terribly convenient blood pact. So tell me again: why do you need me, Jack Winterkiss?"

"What would you have me sa-"

"No," she silenced him. "try once more for me. Why do need me, Jack Winterkiss?"

"Suppose, Wendy Moira Angela Darling," he answered, drawing out each of her names with a punctuated finality, "that I said I didn't need you. Would that satisfy you?"

She snorted softly. "It would certainly feel more truthful."

"Suppose then," he continued in a velvety whisper, "that I said instead that I wanted you."

Wendy felt her mouth go very, very dry, and swallowed hard. The press of his fingers against hers was suddenly very much in the forefront of her mind. "Well," she replied a touch breathlessly, "it's a very nice hypothetical. I suppose in such a case that I might be quite thoroughly charmed."

"Then I suppose," replied Jack smoothly, "that I would feel quite satisfied with that sequence of events."

Wendy felt a small smile tugging at her lips as an idea occurred to her. "Suppose that I, though still in my charmed state, began to fret about returning home nonetheless. What would you do?"

"I suppose I would remind you that much time has passed there already and your presence would cause a decided stir among those you care most about."

"Suppose I argued that my parents and brothers would be far more pleased to see me than upset by my extended absence."

"Suppose I countered that they would be far more heart-broken when you left them again. Unless you would stay with them and not return here."

Wendy mulled this for a moment. "I suppose that particular plan would wreak convenient havoc with our blood pact."

His smile was small and approving. "I suppose it would."

"So I suppose," she said with a very light sigh, "that I would then conclude that the best plan was to stay here with you."

"I would hope that the line of argument would lead you there, yes."

"Suppose I was still dissatisfied. What then?"

The look in his eyes was quite approving, indeed. "Then I suppose I would encourage you to craft a scenario that would please you and which would still obey the constraints already laid down. Do you suppose you would accept?"

Wendy's thoughts were already whirling and skipping through the possibilities this created. She grinned as a very sensible option materialized in her mind. "Why, yes - I suppose I would."

"Good then, Mistress Storyteller," replied Jack, mirroring her grin as he turned to face her, "make it so."

"Well, you see, Lord Winterkiss," began Wendy in a very good storytelling voice, "it goes something like this..."

And so she told him, with the world flashing golden every now and again. Occasionally, as he added his own thoughts, the world tinged icy blue.

In the end, both were reasonably satisfied with the arrangement and the flashes ceased. The eyeball lichen on the walls gave a hearty, rustling thanks as the various flashes had been giving them something of a headache.

* * *

Thus it came about that a legend blossomed among the girls in Reddon Hall of Wendy Darling, the rebellious student hero who would not be a lady. The lead promoter of the tale was, of course, Elizabeth Gwendolyn Leigh Perrigrew, and she would tell it after days of interminably boring lessons or after the bite of Pintzer's words or, really, whenever the littler girls requested it. Many conjectured that it was far more autobiographical than Beth let on, but Beth steadfastly maintained that Wendy Darling was a purely imaginative character quite separate from Beth's own person.

"But how do you know so many Wendy stories, Beth?" asked Sarah one day.

"Dear Sarah, it's terribly easy!" laughed Beth. "I just imagine all the things we wish we actually _could_ do and have Wendy do them. Honestly, don't you wish we could say those terribly cheeky things to Pintzer?"

"But we do get to have some fun like Wendy does," chimed in Rachel. "I think she would heartily approve of the itching powder in the knickers incident. And the tar-manure shoe shine we gave to Pintzer's boots that one time."

"Absolutely!" assured Beth. "In fact, I have a splendid idea - from now on, whenever we accomplish a particularly clever piece of mischief, we shall dedicate it to Wendy Darling!"

Peals of delighted laughter chorused from the surrounding girls. "It's perfect!" "Brilliant idea, Beth!" "Yes, do let's!"

After a few moments, the laughter subsided into more contained giggles.

"Wherever did you come up with the name, anyway?" asked Lexie. " 'Wendy Darling' - it's a bit odd, isn't it?"

"Well," said Beth amiably, "Wendy's a bit odd herself, isn't she? It's fitting."

"I know where the name comes from," teased Rachel. "We all know how fond you are of Nibs Darling, Beth."

Beth, to her credit, colored only slightly. "Well, he's an excellent boy - just imagine if he really did have a sister! Of course she'd do everything Wendy does. She wouldn't be afraid of Pintzer in the least."

And the girls all agreed to that.

That night, Beth dreamed of Wendy Darling again. And, as she lay sleeping, she smiled at the very brave things Wendy once again did and the spectacular adventures she had.

* * *

Wendy, after whispering to Beth's mind, withdrew with a feeling of satisfaction. The spherical room really was a fantastic conduit for dream conversations. It had certainly been a good invention.

Jack appeared behind her, placing his arms around her. "Another visit ended well, then?"

She leaned into him, smiling at the image of Beth. "Quite."

"I was wondering if I might trouble you for a story."

"Mmm," replied Wendy, with a mock-serious air. "On what subject?"

"I'm afraid the mermaids are being rather troublesome again."

"Tsk," said Wendy, "pesky creatures. Almost as silly as the fairies about some things."

Jack laughed softly at her blunt assessment. "I believe this might be one of those very things, actually. Perhaps you could include the fairies in your storytelling endeavors tonight."

Wendy raised a contemplative eyebrow. "Perhaps. So tell me, then - what have they done and what shall we have them do?"

"Let's walk in the courtyard as we decide."

Wendy laughed. "The gwyndilons have an opinion then, do they?"

"You might say that."

Wendy looked pointedly at Jack. "And what else might I say?"

"That I would enjoy the pleasure of your company as we walk under the stars."

"Oh, very suave. How can I refuse? Besides, if they gwyndilons care enough about this, it must be fairly interesting." She laughed again as she took his hand. "Let us go walk in the courtyard, Lord Winterkiss."

Jack smiled behind her, and a very lazy, satisfied smile it was. His eyes positively twinkled as he answered, "As you wish, Mistress Storyteller."

* * *


End file.
